Crimson Shades
by TheBatKid
Summary: The God of Mischief had a new surprise, for the boy who lived with the blood red eyes. Sequel to, "He Fell from the Sky." Steve and Tony pairing though not main focus of the story. Small insights into Peter's life, "Golden Boy." Sequel coming soon.
1. Chapter 1

Crimson Shades

Peter opened his eyes in a newly decorated red and black bedroom, which was softly caressed by the sunlight streaming through his window. He admired the hanging black curtains that shielded him during the night, protected him from all the lurking creatures that could peep at him during slumber, and still separated so he could admire the shimmering stars above when he wanted to. Tony had won the argument over his chamber's decoration – this combination was definitely more suited for their precious alien, although Steve still insisted on blue for his playroom.

The child rose from his bed with a smile on his face. It was covered in plump pillows and a checked silk duvet; however he didn't care about those fine details that his billionaire father took into consideration. Stark wanted to keep his son in the latest fashions, designs and gadgets, since no self-respecting genius would be seen without his wallet on show.

At least, that's what Tony believed.

Steve had been more traditional in his approaches. Between Peter's advanced calculus classes with Bruce and Asguardian History lessons with Thor, the super soldier attempted to add energetic balance to his life in the forms of football, or occasionally a game of tennis in the park. Why did a super intelligent alien in a superhero environment not have fun in his days, after all? His boyfriend may have been more aware of the child's exposure to the tabloids, how the press loved his adorable green eyes and his potential, but Peter Stark-Rogers needed to have some sense of normality. God forbid he ended up like his father, drinking a hundred cups of coffee every day and working on all sorts of complicated machinery.

That morning was surprisingly average. The alien wandered through the still corridors by himself, arms stretched so he could prop himself against the cream-coloured walls, and eyes directed forward so he would be aware of the passing rooms. He hadn't explored this place much in his ten month residence – only certain areas such as the nursery and laboratories when Tony allowed him in – but there was no real need when he knew his father's room exactly, the only place he ever really wanted to be.

Finally he came to the familiar white door, which had recently been repainted to a glossy sheen after Peter's mishap with a red brush. Bruce was supposed to be watching him that night but, when so many nights were spent poring over textbooks and saving the world, it was only logical that the scientist had fallen asleep, leaving the mischievous child to his own devices for a few hours. You would have thought that such an intelligent life-form was capable of running with red paint and not tripping; people had a tendency to forget he was in fact an infant, whose wisdom was not matched to his IQ.

"Daddy?" His voice was soft as he opened the unlocked entrance, immediately revealing the stylish room his father kept. Steve had recently moved in although he tended to sleep in his previous accommodations since, and quote, 'Tony had the worst snoring problem this side of the world.'

"Hmmm?" Stark was exhausted at this hour, at 6 AM, although he wasn't about to turn away his early-bird son. The ironman legend forced himself to raise a sleep-influenced head, struggled to blink his eyes and remove some of the slumber's residue, before a smile descended on his thin lips. Peter always managed to pull some sort of happiness from him, even when he was immensely upset, just by standing in his little silk pyjamas and looking so adorably innocent with his trusting face.

"Daddy has to up. Hungry." Well, at least that had improved. No longer did the toddler struggle to form a sentence (granted his words were a little less refined than Tony would have hoped) and he didn't stutter over the most basic of indications, most notably when he was hungry. Thor taught him how to eat buckets of food in one sitting – by the way his precious angel was going, he would have no trouble gulping down what the God could, and even less fitting pudding in on top of that.

Tony let out a chuckle, one that was laced with a slight note of self-pity. He was up most of that night doing complicated physics equations and setting out the blueprints of his new gadget, despite the constant nagging that Steve had provided. Now the billionaire regretted not going to bed with his boyfriend, since it seemed their son knew exactly when he wasn't up to it, though this didn't mean that he wouldn't press his father for an early-morning rise.

As he muttered a short reply, "Five more minutes Pete, and I'll get up to make breakfast," the genius felt his eyelids droop, like he was already exhausted for the busy day ahead. Why did he insist on babysitting his son that morning? It was going to be difficult to juggle the responsibilities of parenthood as well as his work, whilst trying to prepare some activities to keep the child interested. Though if he thought about it, they all knew the boy would be more than happy to help his father in the calculations...

Peter waited patiently for a few seconds until he heard Tony's loud snore. With a furrow of his brow the child gripped onto the edges of his duvet, pulling himself up with the might of ten strings, before he found himself on the very end of his beloved billionaire's bed. It was always comfortable on this side as Steve's indent was still present, warm, but the alien wasn't settling down to sleep right now. He patted the genius' head with one hand and tugged at his goatee gently, with one complaint on his voice.

"Up, up, up. Daddy has to up. Captain Daddy grumpy when Daddy doesn't up."

Stark sighed one long, tired sigh. With one great swipe of his arm he caught his tiny little alien and brought him down onto the mattress, where he started to aimlessly tickle the small stomach Peter had. He squealed in laughter, his small feet kicking in the air like he was fighting off an invisible beast, whilst the tickle-attack continued its dreadful onslaught.

"Alright, alright – I'm up. Come on then, I'll make you some breakfast downstairs...AFTER you've washed your face. The last time I let you downstairs straight from bed, Captain Daddy almost took my head off my shoulders!" Just as the billionaire picked his little boy up (he was so light that it was no trouble) he heard a thudding outside his room, which usually signalled the arrival of his boyfriend. Steve was a different man in the morning; barely awake, fumbling and mindless, it was usually as if someone had stepped in place of the super soldier and stole his identity away. Tony normally rectified this state with coffee although he had been turned down to start injecting it straight into his beloved.

It was different today though.

"Tony? Good, you're up. Fury wants you to see him in the meeting room, immediately. And when I say immediately, I mean he almost ripped me apart when I passed him this morning," Rogers seemed alert today, his eyes directed straight onto the billionaire's face with hints of seriousness lacing them. Stark's chocolate brown irises were now sparking with interest although he kept a brave face for Peter, who already knew that there was something going on.

"Really? Hear that Pete?" the genius said to his son, more an indication to Steve that he was there, "Grandpa is going to have a little talk with me upstairs!"

"You know Nick hates you calling him that," the super soldier took their son out of his hands and tucked him tightly against his shoulder, as if Peter needed some sort of comforting.

"He hates everything I do – still, I guess I could start calling him Uncle One-Eye. How's that instead?"

"Tony..."

"Fine, fine, I'll go. Will you get Pete some breakfast? He's hungry," the tycoon moved towards the white closet door at the side of his room; a relatively new feature, put in mainly because it opened automatically and saved a few valuable seconds in Stark's morning. He was deciding on a suitable outfit to wear when he heard Steve call from outside the door, whilst he wandered out in the possession of their budding trouble-maker.

"After he's finished tearing into you, come down for breakfast. I'll make pancakes."

"Pancakes!" Peter's voice brought a smile to his father's face, and the excitement in it almost made him laugh out loud. He often felt guilty for his son's hectic home-life – the constant hero duties, the workload and the frequent tests they still carried out on his powers were enough to drive them insane, although he seemed to handle it with the grace of a ballet dancer. They couldn't ask for a better equipped, well-rounded child than their Peter, who managed to bring smiles to their faces after the most frenzied workdays.

But another question floated into his head whilst he dragged his eyes through the clothes. Not even the flurry of designer labels and beautifully crafted clothes could pull his mind away from the thought, the queries that layered his mind like a complicated alveoli.

What did Fury want?


	2. Price To Pay

The meeting room was possibly the only place that hadn't changed. Still equipped with its wide-spread windows and the green-marble topped bar, Tony insisted on keeping this area exactly the same, so not everything would have been altered in Peter's presence. Besides, it was the first place that the child had seen, and the place needed some sense of normality in its original format.

"What's up Grandpa?" Stark greeted the ever-furious Nick, who was standing at the windows with a glass of brandy in his hands. It seemed he had been up for hours now – the SHIELD director was wearing his trademark black overcoat and black gloves, in addition to the casual dark attire he often donned underneath. His hands shook in anger when he laid eyes on the billionaire, although he was very well-trained at keeping his cool in such situations.

"Tony, finally," his voice was a low menacing growl as he walked towards the bar, tapping on its glittering green surface and tilting his head to the side, "Any longer and I would've dragged you from bed myself."

"Didn't need to; Pete got me up this morning. I was _going _to make breakfast but, for some reason, you decided you needed me at this ungodly hour," the tycoon didn't want to stick around for longer than he had to, even though this gave him some much needed time to think about Peter's games. "So, what did you want?"

Fury stared at Stark. It wouldn't be too out-of-character for them to suddenly fall into an argument, one that raged louder than Thor's attacks and echoed all the way to Tiananmen Square. They weren't the best of friends though, on the other end, they weren't the best of enemies either. He dragged his eyes away from the tycoon's face to look outside, where bluebirds were soaring past and twittering inane nonsense to each other whilst the sun shone gloriously down.

"You have got to stop hacking into SHIELD databases," his first demand was more or less expected, since they had argued about it so many times before. His dark-haired counterpart would never fully understand what the term, 'secret' or, 'extremely dangerous,' meant according to him, and that meant that this same discussion would be dragged out every other week. Tony set down a half-filled glass of vodka, his eyes directed onto the back of Fury's shining bald head, before he finally answered him.

"Now I could almost swear I made myself undetectable. How did you find out?"

"Let's just say it took a good twenty five men and seventy-two hours to trace the signal," a little vague but the billionaire could understand, "Why did you do it this time?"

"Pete's birthday is coming up – I was looking for any new gizmos you were working on, so I'd be able to finish them up by the big day."

The director struggled not to burst out laughing. Ex-bachelor Anthony Stark, reckless entrepreneur and self-styled trendsetter, had hacked into a top secret military databank, just so he could find a birthday present for his son? Weren't there any toys that the kid didn't yet own, or was it because he'd have something that no other rich boy would own? It seemed the billionaire's heart had turned somewhat mushy over the ten months.

"That has to be the most ridiculous, pathetic excuse for causing a government offence I've ever heard," he said, although his voice was cracking as he uttered the words, "Please God tell me that's not the real reason you did it."

There was no immediate reply. Instead Tony decided to take a little wander around his meeting room, circling the beautiful white leather sofa and gazing at the expensive, imported cream carpet. He would really have to moan at his maid soon; she was starting to become sloppy with her work, since the sharp-eyed legend could see flecks of black dirt clinging to the long threads.

"That's not the only reason you wanted me here," he eventually sighed whilst taking a large gulp of his vodka, which was already half-gone by the time he started walking back, "If you wanted to bitch about that, you'd have stuck a note to the fridge or something. I wouldn't have paid attention, but that's a different story. Come on grandpa, quit all these formalities and tell me why you really wanted to see me."

A silence descended on the room. Sunlight caressed Tony's youthful chiselled features as Fury thought to himself, wondered how he was going to break the news to his friend. How would he react when he heard? What would he do in his almost certain anger, aside from lashing out at the one responsible for it? He pondered on these thoughts for a moment until he realised that the quiet was droning on, and he would have to answer quickly in case the man's short attention span came into effect.

"I spoke to my superiors a few weeks ago, regarding Peter's approval to become earth-bound," he began after moving away slightly, "They informed that, in all technicalities, your son is now a remarkable person on earth."

"And that's important how?"

"The Avengers are a team of remarkable people. Oh there's differences in our structure, they've taken that all into account, but-"

Tony interrupted him, in a loud outburst that almost rattled the Tower to its foundations, "I hope you're not suggesting that Pete – my son, the heir to Stark Industries – should be put into a highly specialised team whose job is to protect the world?"

Fury understood how ridiculous it all sounded. He wasn't too keen on letting their little alien into the main dangers, since there were so many that already threatened him, however the director was obligated to fulfil his superior's wishes as best he could. Even now though, as the sun touched the finest details of Tony's face and highlighted his traditional black shirt, he could see those furious smouldering eyes, which seemed to burn with an intensity that only a father could feel.

Whilst they spoke, it was a very different scene downstairs. Peter was playfully decorating a freshly prepared pancake, covering it lovingly in lashings of syrup and some bacon that Thor had passed him, just as his father started nagging at Bruce that the lessons should have been called off that day. His innocent features were soft, light, considering that everything in his world was an idyllic vision of childhood...unknowingly threatened at that time.

"I understand," Fury spoke when Steve's arm went over the child's shoulder with a laugh, "There's nothing I can do at this point. The world needs to get off its ass and take care of itself but, until that happens, looks like we're going to have to make sacrifices."

"Sacrifices? That's what you're calling it?"

Peter poured another glass of squash for himself, "Tony, don't make me out to be the bad guy. I've tried and tried to get them to see our point of view – it isn't easy, let me tell you – and they've decided that, as a remarkable person, he should be in the Avengers. Young or not."

Tony slammed his glass on the bar. His eyes were wild now, a mantra of rage pulsing through them in the most terrifying way possible, whilst he hissed in a low voice, "I don't care what they say. He's _my _son; Peter Stark-Rogers will never be part of the Avengers, never!"

The billionaire turned and stalked out of the spacious room, with such anger in his steps that he could have scared small children. Fury watched until he rounded a corner, sighing slightly to himself as he put his own glass down, and wondered what he would say to his bosses. Peter would have to be part of the team, no matter how much they all hated the idea and how much they all fought against it.

That was just the price for being extraordinary.


	3. Things to Come

"What're you saying Tony?" Steve asked as the billionaire tried to explain their predicament. The super soldier was rightly confused about the whole situation, since their precious alien was far too young to be deployed in the field, yet there was some truth to Fury's argument. Technically, Peter _was _a remarkable person, however much they all wanted him to be integrated into normal society.

"I'm saying," Stark sighed whilst he gathered the thoughts in his head, putting them all into a more comprehensible order for his boyfriend, "Fury can't do anything about it. SHIELD want Pete, our Pete, to be part of the Avengers, and it doesn't look like they're going to take no for an answer."

The child was sitting at the other end of the table, equipped with some scrap materials that Tony had found in the lab. It was fun for him; these little pieces of metal, plastics and fabrics held thousands of possibilities in their structures, which he could discover in a matter of mere seconds.

"Well then, why don't we just write a letter to them or something?" Roger's solutions were always peaceful, sometimes frustratingly so, although his beloved could see the spark in his eyes. He wanted to tear something – or maybe, someone – apart for this suggestion, that their little Peter should have been diving head-first into untold dangers and hazards. Weren't there laws against this kind of thing? Child endangerment issues and whatnot? Or did Fury's superiors not care about that, only wanting every possible chance to rid the world of unknown evils? This was a little boy, for God's sakes!

Suddenly, Peter's dark-crested head rose. His toys, innocently sat in front of him like silent soldiers, were thrown to the sides with one great sweep of his tiny arm whilst he continued to stare, deeply at the men who were 'quietly' discussing him. The alien may have been 'young' but he wasn't stupid; he had assumed that they knew this already, though it seemed he needed to prove his intellect again.

"Daddies upset," his voice was laced with a slight anger as he spoke and he gulped once, a hand placed lightly on an old metal rod, "Daddies upset! Make happy, I make happy, but daddies sad. Team? Make team, daddies, I help." The statement was unrefined, a little juvenile; however both men could understand the gist of it. Their son, their little boy, was aware of his predicament, and wanted to offer himself into the team rather than making them force him.

"No, Pete," Tony replied quickly whilst walking towards him. His face was the picture of upset as he did this, the features that Peter loved were dancing with regret, and he noticed a soft tear almost build up in the man's eye as he gazed down at the child. What reason would he have for crying? It was only logical that the alien became an Avenger, especially when his unnatural powers and uncanny intelligence came into consideration, although it seemed that these two were more against the idea than Peter was.

"You're too young, little guy," Steve cooed as he moved into the seat next to him, ruffling his thick locks gently with a hand, "Me and Daddy are going to face the monsters until you're at least eighteen, then we might consider letting you get spiders out the bathroom. Don't worry about this situation; we'll get it sorted, no matter what happens."

Soothing words, granted they didn't help lessen Peter's viewpoint. His fathers were upset about this, they weren't happy that their child was thought to be an unstoppable force just because of his powers, and yet they still didn't let him do anything about it. He was sure that, given a trial run in the team, he would be able to prove that he wasn't fit for the job and that it was a miscalculation on their part. Although, his calculations were never wrong, which meant the fact he could see no errors in their idea was slightly unnerving...

"Captain Daddy-"

"No, no, no," he interrupted before patting the child's head, "Come on, there's no time to start worrying. Daddy's going to take you up to the lab now so he can work – that is, unless he wants to give you to me for the morning?"

More a question to his boyfriend, Steve only wanted to take some weight off his shoulders and let him concentrate on the important blueprints; however Tony was more than happy to take Peter for a few hours. After such disturbing information about the expectations he lived by, the tycoon wanted to make his son feel less pressured on the subject of his abilities, and remind him that his intelligence was just another advantage rather than condemnation. Fury wouldn't become the decider for _his _boy; after all, Stark was the father here, who had the support of the team's leader and several other members of the elite.

"Okay," it took a good few minutes for Peter to be picked up by Tony and say a proper farewell to his blonde-haired carer, although the child never wanted to leave his arms. There was safety there, protection and warmth, things that had become a norm for him during his ten month residence. But why did they insist on not letting him return the favour for this security?

He understood the terms of, 'unconditional love.' He understood that, no matter what he decided to do with his life or use his powers for, his fathers would always be there on his side. There was something that underlined these feelings though – an unspoken promise on Peter's half, that he would forever uphold a sense of decency and moral standards in return for their kindness. So why would they not let him endanger himself like they had done so many times before, and potentially save millions in the process? Even months ago in the face of his death, he had chosen to protect the world instead of himself, which inevitably caused temporary death but rescued so many?

The boy continued to ponder on these thoughts as his father walked away, a light peck on Steve's lips in his goodbye, despite only travelling a few metres into his expensive facility. Peter gazed at the rows of beakers, test tubes and coloured metals with awe dancing in his eyes, until he fell upon one construct in the corner of the room. The smile on his face fell into a frown.

Not long ago, he had attempted to make his own version of the Ironman suit. Hardly a Tony Stark at these things, it was juvenile and small – big enough to fit only him, maybe – whilst also being unable to hold a proper power supply. The billionaire had been praising at his tries, commenting that not many grownups could make some so advanced, but all Peter could see was a failure. A big, yellow and red painted failure.

"Want to have a look at the new blueprints, Pete?" His father asked before setting him down in a 'special' chair, one that was fashioned like a highchair but had certain...modifications. The billionaire had been careful not to let his boyfriend find out about them.

"No," the toddler replied with a voice lined by regret, "Daddy better blueprints. I am bad building."

"Bad at building? No you're not Pete! Look at what you made last time you were here!" he gestured towards the miniature Ironman suit, which had unknowingly been dusted and cared for since Peter's last visit. If the child knew how much his father valued this little construction he might have felt better about it; however Tony was not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and instead just smiled that proud smile he had.

"Wrong, wrong," came the reply, "Wrong building. Not good like Daddy. Daddy better blueprints, means Daddy watch them, not me."

And so the morning carried on pretty much the same way. Stark tried to get his child interested in the physics of his blueprints, even going as far to hand him the prototype and try to correct its mistakes, although it seemed Peter was entirely disinterested in helping today. He was confused, regretful and annoyed – nothing would make him happy today, especially not the reminder that his suit was a complete failure in terms of efficiency. As soon as his son left for lunch the billionaire turned, looking at the thing that caused so much upset to him, and wondered if there was anything he could do to fix it.

"Just a little version of the suit," he muttered whilst touching the shining frame, his fingers placed to see what sort of modifications he could make, "I suppose I could tinker about with it...what's the worst that can happen? He might like it for his birthday..."

After all, what could go wrong with that plan?


	4. Aiming High

The rest of that day wasn't too exciting. Peter spent most of it in his playroom, toying with a few of the expensive noisemakers his father had bought, although he wasn't really in the mood. What point was there in the construction of these things? Why did someone spend countless hours crafting, if nothing life-changing would ever come out of their efforts? All the child wanted to do was be like Tony, who made things that really mattered to the world, whilst also keeping a fulfilling existence as Ironman.

How would he ever achieve this if he couldn't even make a stupid suit? On the one hand, he would always have the support of the Avengers, yet on the other he would never be satisfied with himself unless he made a difference, unless he became as wonderful as his fathers were, and he saved lives with his existence.

"Stupid," he muttered when he caught sight of himself in the mirror, which glimmered with the soft sunlight streaming through his arch-like window, "Daddies are strong but you stupid. Too much toys. Too much."

It was harsh for him to say that, especially when he didn't know the real reason for his splendour. Tony wanted to keep him safe in the Tower, protect him from everyone that wanted to exploit, but Peter thought his father didn't want him out there. He thought that one failure, that single suit in the lab was affecting his reputation, even though that was far from the truth.

The child listened as people milled outside his playroom, and heard their interactions whenever offered, "Is Pete playing?"

"I think so. Has anyone checked on him today?"

"He was supposed to be with Tony - I guess he got bored in the lab. Leave him be then, because he's got a temper like his dad when he's interrupted!" Humorous, whilst also being extremely accurate. Peter was almost identical to his father in some senses – his intellect, his problematic skills and his bravery – but when he looked at himself, there was nothing that resembled Stark. The child thought, with all his heart and soul, that he was only a Stark by name, and would never be one in his way. It caused a tear to come to his eye.

So for hours he toyed away, building up great cities in wasted time and filling them with large soft citizens, all of them possessing different needs. He attempted to accommodate these with figures from a recent geography study, which Bruce had given to him on a particularly dull afternoon; however this only went so far until he was doing calculations in his head, just to make a decision on what teddy bear would be the grand physician or the heartfelt doctor. He wanted to make a world he liked, with no evil or dangers that lurked around every corner. Then there would be no need for super suits or courageous heroes...

He was just putting the finishing touches on an oddly-proportioned red skyscraper when Thor entered, threatening to topple his Statue of Liberty rendition as he swung open the door, and a gasp escaped the God's lips after he caught sight of the whole city. Wooden blocks were the walls, plastic sheets in place of rooftops and the teddies, all donned with illustrious medals that Tony had bought, were waiting patiently to be put into their separate houses and start their own lives. Peter was so absorbed in his crafting that he didn't notice Thor coming in.

"Spaceman!" his gasp caused the child to drop his current building materials, "If I did not know any better, I would say you were trying to make another Asguard! This is glorious!"

"No fighting here," the reply was blunt and disinterested, as if Peter wanted to carry on rather than talk to his dear 'uncle', "Pretty and safe. Daddies live here but me live there." Tony and Steve's little playhouse was larger than the others, made out of fabrics, plastics and even a shiny diamond from an old necklace, although his own was a little sadder.

The worn wooden blocks were clumsily mashed together instead of elegantly set, whilst there was no shiny clock-tower like his fathers. Instead of a lovely felt garden littered lovingly with rose petals, there was a fake tyre-field which had been decorated with old rubbish, and he was not a majestic teddy bear that had combed soft fur. He was a manufactured T-Rex, though the green scaly skin was lashed with red pen, in an attempt to create the effect of cuts all over it.

"That's exquisite, but I have come to bring you down for dinner."

Peter looked up for a moment, searching his expression for some hint of humour. He didn't want to go to dinner, to sit there as the people he loved bickered over his indoctrination; however he could see denying food would be deemed, 'strange behaviour.' Couldn't they just let him be alone for tonight?

"No." He turned away from the God and continued with his construction, which was slowly taking shape to look similar to the Eiffel Tower. Thor cocked his head to one side, a single thought in his head that the child must have not heard him correctly, or that he was too engulfed in his current project to care. There was a struggle not to burst out laughing – so much like Anthony Stark, already.

"Do not jest little Peter," his chuckle was accompanied by a light pat on the head, granted that the man had to lean over one of his delicate crafts to do so, "You need to eat something if you ever want to grow strong like me or, dare I say, Anthony." A note of worry was touching his voice now, as if the glare Peter shot in return had completely sapped the God's energy.

"Daddy better," he growled in reply, "Daddy better than me. Daddy build better. Daddy better blueprints. Stupid Peter. Stupid."

A few minutes passed with the pair staring at each other, like they would strike if either took one glance away. There was a moment when the boy felt he would attack in the case of not being left alone, however this was eventually drawn away as he saw the glimmer of upset in Thor's irises.

"Very well, little spaceman. I will tell the team you are not up to dinner," and with that he was gone. Peter stared for a moment, a thought in his head that he should go apologise, even though there seemed to be no reason for it in his juvenile wisdom. He wanted to be alone, he needed to be alone – why couldn't people understand he wasn't in constant danger?

Only, for a child of the famous Avengers, danger was never too far away.

"Peter..." he turned, screaming at the intruder to go away with an assumption that it was a teammate, but there was no one there. The voice was soft, whispery; something about it seemed familiar although it didn't match to his mother's, who had not been heard since his tragic death ten months ago. It was a male's voice, that much was clear.

"I understand you Peter. Let's be friends..."

Who did that belong to?


	5. Faceless Friends

Thor stared at the rest of his team, wondering what to say in reply to their questions. It was all very much predictable – they wanted to know if Peter was ill, angry or upset, since the alien never missed the opportunity to dine with his heroes. Maybe he felt that his current project was too important to leave? That brought a smile to Steve's face, as it reminded him of his work-induced boyfriend who rarely ever left a new idea.

"Is he alright up there, at least?" Bruce eventually asked from where he sat, all the way at the other side, "He seemed to be wrapped up in his work last time I went in."

"He's relatively contented," replied Thor, who was attempting to drink his large-cup coffee, "When I went in, our little spaceman was enjoying himself. He had built a large utopia out of his toys; Anthony, my friend, I think that you might have a young Leonardo Da Vinci on your hands, rather than a Mr. Albert Einstein as you keep suggesting."

Tony jolted up from his steaming bowl of spaghetti with a wild look in his eyes, dancing in a horror that the God could scarcely describe, "Peter is not going to be a Starving Artist!" It was such a deep-rooted fear for him, that his precious son might not follow in his footsteps and instead took an alternate path, since it seemed evident the real money was in technology. He just wanted the alien to be secure in the future, manage his own finances if the billionaire became unable to do so; with his intelligence it would be a waste, if he went down any other career path.

"Calm down," Bruce chuckled at his friend, "I doubt that Pete would ever want to make cities. Not enough time on his already busy schedule, don't you agree? I mean what with the naps and such-"

The genius threw a piece of bread at his researcher companion before turning to Steve, who had been quietly listening throughout their discussion. Something about his relaxed manner was enough to calm his mood, bring him back to a more comprehensible state, whilst the others only managed to rile him straight back up again. The super soldier leaned forward and stroked his boyfriend's head, as if he understood just how much Peter's creative side worried him despite the boy's natural intelligence.

Upstairs, it was all very different. There was no soft chuckling at Tony's reactions, not even a hint of joy danced within the plaything's creation and their alien, confused and alone like he on arrival, stared at an empty space in the corner of his nursery. His dark-crested head tilted to one side as he called out, "Friend? Friend? Daddy says careful – friend sometimes fake, sometimes want hurt. Good friend?"

All was silent. The boy stepped forward to see what was happening, to gain some more knowledge about the faceless voice, although he found himself springing back when something manifested. A strange green cloak appeared first, complimented by stylish black under-clothing and equally magnificent shoulder pads fringed with gold, whilst the skinny frame of a man started to fill out the spectre-like outfit. He watched, terrified, as this stranger took shape in his sanctuary, a face forming out of nothingness and shoulder-length black hair falling from the top of his head; however he couldn't look away, since this was the only real contact outside he had ever experienced. The Tower was turning into a prison and he was only just realising it.

"I'm a very good friend, Peter," this man's voice was strange, different, but no less exciting as the child watched him float to the floor, "I'm a powerful friend. Best of all I'm a friend who understands what you are going through, why you're going through it – your fathers do not know what I know, do they?"

"Wait!" Peter's childish voice was peaked with urgency whilst he put his hands up, suddenly turning to scrabble for something in his toys. The boy's frame knocked over one of his more expertly built constructions and, with a great yowl of triumph, he gripped his green plastic juice container before bringing it to the manifestation, a young smile on his soft features. The man tilted his head to one side when he saw the offering and, as if he felt some prick of humanity, familiar flashes of warmth echoed in his green eyes.

"What is this?"

"Juice!" replied the alien, "Juice for me but share. Thirsty, you thirsty? Share juice with friend!" with his words he thrust the container forwards, although it simply passed through the non-physical form. Hints of confusion dappled his eyes whilst he looked up, in need of some explanation for what had just happened.

The spectre's face softened as he bent down, head-height with the child he was talking to and an unexpected expression on his face, "I cannot take that offering, little one. Maybe when we finally meet but, at this present time, your uncle Thor holds me captive in our homeland."

"Uncle For...fur...Thor?"

"Yes..." he thought briefly to himself that the boy's IQ may have been quite overrated, despite the fact he had been watching very closely, "You might know him as a loving protector although as a brother, he is quite the opposite. Do you have any brothers or sisters, little one?"

A hint of confusion lined Peter's eyes as he muttered, "No?"

"I see," his new 'friend' stood up before gliding around the room, noticing the beautifully crafted wallpaper and the expertly fashioned water-patterns dappling it. Such expense must have been poured into this one room, this one little sanctuary, which somehow proved how much Tony cared for this new responsibility.

"Have brother? Uncle Fur...Thor have brother? You uncle?" Peter ran alongside the man, each childish step only equalling to a third of his, "Family. You family if uncle. Hello!"

He stopped. This boy was so trusting to him, so innocent in a way that he almost mourned, though he was too far now to stop. Peter would surely tell someone of his visit if he did so, and that would mean another 'visit' from his golden-boy brother.

"My name Peter. Used to Osmostinos. Now Peter. What your name?" he wanted to be closer to this new uncle, like they had wasted enough time when they were unaware of each other.

"My name?" a peck went against Peter's head, a cold one that seemed to send shivers down his spine, "Call me Loki."


	6. Plotting

That night, Peter went to bed with a smile on his face. After meeting the unknown Uncle Loki, he had divulged less-than-honourable history of Asguard and informed the child things he shouldn't have known, although he kept to a strict underlining statement in his words. He made the young boy feel valued, like nothing could ever be out of grasp if he tried hard enough, and that the legendary swordsmen in his stories could never hope to reach his potential. It was only when Tony entered the room that Peter's new friend vanished, leaving no trace that he had ever been present.

"You've been quiet today," his father commented during the routine tuck-in, "Has something upset you Pete?"

"No." Came the reply; however Stark was too clever to be so easily persuaded. There were hints of dishonesty in Peter's eyes, something that existed in plain sight and yet was too hidden to fully pinpoint, "Daddy build blueprints?"

"I managed to get them out of the rut we hit," the billionaire started to ruffle the duvet slightly, an attempt to make his son more comfortable on the luxurious bed, "Turns out, we just need to plate it with a higher percentage of titanium."

"Too heavy?"

"You're too quick for me, Pete," Tony's chuckle rumbled from deep within his chest as he gave a quick peck on the boy's head, "Maybe you can help me out tomorrow with the proper calculations?" his child, though usually a little more excited, nodded his head in a suitable fashion before turning away from the man. A sigh passed his thin lips; he wanted to go back to his playroom, to talk to the uncle he never knew he had, but it was already past his properly allocated bedtime. There would be no interesting stories for him until tomorrow, when he could get up and go straight to his little utopia again. Hopefully Loki would return...

"Hey little guy, are you sleepy yet?" the soft voice belonged to Steve, who had just entered with a big plate of spaghetti, "Thor said you didn't want to come for dinner. I thought I'd bring you some up, just in case you were a bit peckish."

Tony's pupils dilated when he saw the super soldier, so heavy-handed with their enemies and still a supremely soft touch for their son. Something about the way he spoke to him - in a manner that was firm and caring – caused the billionaire's heart to swell, and his love for them both to suddenly shoot through the roof. Their family may have been a little more unconventional than most but where it mattered, they were nothing more than your average parents, trying to do the best for their little wonder.

"Not hungry," Peter muttered as he sat up. He looked strangely robotic as he did this, like someone had fitted a rod in his spine, granted neither of them dared comment on it, "Thank Captain Daddy, not hungry. Not sleepy. Want up, want play!" on that note the child jumped to his feet, his eyes turning a blood red whilst he stretched his arms out. Several of his toys suddenly sprang to life with him and they danced around the large double-bed, which Tony momentarily noted to have washed and changed.

"What have we told you about using your powers in the house?" Steve scolded even though he was happy to see Peter enjoying himself, "It's too dangerous, we don't know just how much strength you can put into them without fainting. Come on little guy; you're too clever to be doing things like this, or disobeying us. We only want what's best for you."

The alien's eyes returned to normal. His toys, joyfully skipping and dancing around his bed, fell about into the lifeless objects they were, losing all the magic that they once possessed. What was the point of having these gifts if he couldn't use them? His fathers acted as though they were something to repress, something that he needed protecting from, when it reality they were as deeply woven into him as they were into danger. He could learn how to protect himself _with _his talents, if only the superheroes would allow his mastery of them.

"That's better," Tony re-tucked Peter back into his bed, carefully making sure that the boy's body was securely covered by the silk checked duvet. Whilst he did this Steve, with his big plate of spaghetti, started to close the beautiful curtains at the other side of the room, and peaked out to see the large moon shining above.

"When have you got that press conference tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Ah, damn it – I was supposed to get Pep to cancel that. I suppose I'll be gone at around ten thirty."

"Don't swear around Peter!" the super soldier's eyes went wide like it was the worst thing in the world, though in reality their young child had been exposed to humanity's most awful traits, "Ten thirty? Oh, okay, I was hoping you'd be around for Peter's calculus lesson."

Tony shut off the light and they continued talking as if the child had disappeared, despite the fact he still listened quite closely, "No; I'll be around for the next one though. I'm going to take it instead of Bruce, since Pete only got a ninety eight percent on his last test. What is he playing at? Our little genius is a straight, one-hundred percent student!" he acted like the very idea of his son getting less than perfect was repulsive, which the child took on quite harshly in his young mind. A single tear appeared at the corner of his eye whilst he continued listening.

"Good. Come on then, Tony; let's let Pete get some shut eye. I'm stuck on this crossword puzzle downstairs; could you give me a hand?" With that the leader put down the plate and walked out of the room, his tycoon boyfriend following closely behind, and both of them forgetting to give their child that little peck on his forehead that they usually did. They should have remembered the Peter could take anything on board and, as he had proven before, misinterpret it.

"Daddy?" his voice was small in the dark as he struggled to get a hand free, although the sheets soon became loose enough for him to move, "Daddy? Daddies forgot kisses! Daddies!" but Tony and Steve were already halfway down the stairs by this point, and any hope of Peter's little voice reaching them was depressingly small. Soon the child stopped shouting for his parents, instead falling down on the soft mattress others craved to own, waiting for someone to come and give him a proper goodnight. Tears cascaded down his cheeks like a waterfall, despite the fact it seemed so trivial to cry over this.

Peter had always been a very heartfelt boy.

"They are not as caring as they would like you to believe," the familiar voice of Loki came into his head, right before the manifestation returned. He looked more transparent this time but that didn't matter; his uncle was there in the place of his fathers, and it was enough to make Peter smile.

"Uncle Loki!"

"I apologise for my earlier disappearance, little one," the ex-God began to lovingly put his nephew back into place, in movements that were so gentle they could have been done by a mother, "Your father is not my number one supporter, you see, and would most likely have my head if he knew we had been speaking."

"Daddy-"

"Shh, my young nephew," a hand softly cupped Peter's cheek as Loki placed a single peck upon his forehead, "You must listen to me now, for I do not know how long I can stay. Your father – Anthony Stark, the earth-bound metal man – he is leaving tomorrow?"

"Cameramen going talk Daddy!" the excitement in the boy's voice was enough to shatter a lesser man; however Loki's eyes simply flashed with a heart warming glow again whilst he continued.

"You must leave when he does. When he opens that door, you must rush out of it. Be sure he does not see you for this will ruin the plan, but do not fear that you shall be unsafe. On my honour as your uncle I shall watch over you, which means that you should be able to explore the world outside of this Tower."

The offer was tempting. For too long had Peter been cooped up in this place, without playmates his own age or a wide range of interactions, although the thought of disobeying his parents was not as enticing. If Loki would watch over him, they couldn't be that mad...right?

"I shall be there for your leaving, my nephew," another peck on the forehead, "Goodnight. May you have pleasant dreams of lands afar."


	7. The Greatest Gift

The laboratory was strangely empty that evening. Not even Bruce had decided to ponder on some late-night calculations, making the world a little more knowledgeable with each equation he cracked, and Tony was almost thrilled when he saw he would be alone. That meant only one thing to him – his secret present to Peter, the little alien who had made their lives so interesting, would remain a mystery until the big day, when he would receive something more amazing than any toy on sale.

"You shouldn't be working tonight," Steve had nagged whilst the billionaire prepared for his sleepless night, "There's two months to go 'til Pete's birthday. I doubt you'll fall behind if you take tonight off."

"I want to get the thing up and running, which could take a little over a month itself," explained Tony as he collected a few of Hawkeye's tools, "Then we've got all the safety modifications, the calculations to put in for his powers; I'll be lucky if I finish it in a year, let alone in time for his birthday. Don't you think his little face will just light up?"

Both of them became lost in their thoughts. The idea of Peter playing with his friends and poring over well-deserved presents was lovely, wonderful, and caused their hearts to burst with pride when they pictured his soft little features all lit up. How could they deny him the best birthday present he could ever hope for? How could Steve, with all his morals and traditional values, disallow something that would surely make him happy, when all he wanted was for his baby to enjoy himself? Tony say that there would be safety modifications...maybe he could fix it to only do certain things...

And that idea led to the making of a list, one that expressly forbade the billionaire from putting anything remotely dangerous in. It mentioned briefly about a flight restriction, a remote deactivation switch and padding on the inside, but there was a single warning on it that Steve wanted him to take as the utmost of importance.

**Do not skip corners. Make it safe.**

Tony smiled at this whilst he set to work. His beloved leader would always value Peter's safety more than anything, often pushing his enjoyment out of the equation just so he return home, which reminded the tycoon just how much he loved him. The way he fought every day for the world's protection, faced countless foes with the bravest of hearts, just so he could come and worry about the little things their child got up to – something about it screamed ridiculous, although it made Stark's heart burst every time the thought arrived.

"Right, Peter's done a fine job on this," he muttered to himself after opening the chest cavity, a different feature from his own suit, "He hasn't managed to fit a sufficient power supply in. Hm...could I make this slightly greener? If it ran on solar energy...no, no; on a cloudy day he wouldn't be able to use it. Damn it. Looks like it'll have to run on the arc reactor's energy source. Where the Hell am I going to put that?"

Despite his struggles with the machine's complex, it soon began to take shape in his mind. He could see its set-up, the way it would function, the manner in which it would give his son limitless ability and yet still protect him; there would be absolutely no compromises on this. It would be done right, or not at all.

And so, he spent the entire night in that position, chipping away at the faults of his boy's birthday present. He manoeuvred certain out-of-place gears to fit the structure whilst calculating everything in his head, since a basic Ironman suit wasn't built without first thinking about it.

Finally, he stopped when he reached comfortable point. The billionaire could see all the craftsmanship in his work, especially the way he had proportioned the metal casing, and felt a slight smile twitch on his face as he admired it. How could Peter not be pleased with this?! It was almost identical to his own suit, which the child was always gazing at and asking for a ride. Though the child's favourite colours were not yellow and red.

"Steve will want to paint it," he decided before throwing Hawkeye's screwdriver down, "I'll get him to do that tomorrow when Pete's in class. Will he be asleep?" the out-loud question was to himself, a thought that he might want to go for a late-night visit to his boyfriend. He needed some sort of reward after a hard night's work.

So he disappeared upstairs, looking forward to an unexpected visit. The suit glinted with the streaming moonlight as he vanished, so innocently placed in wait for the big day – if only Tony had looked beside him before going away, as then he would have seen Loki's manifestation in the corner.

"Pathetic mortal," the demoted Prince growled before stepping out, the light radiating through his semi-transparent form, "Such primitive, basic needs. No wonder nothing ever gets finished in this place; how in the universe did he best me? Hm. No matter, since he has now left me with what I came here for."

Loki admired the suit in front of him. It was magnificent in its own way, if someone disregarded the unfinished circuit boards or the outward-facing wires, though he wasn't here to start being a judge of beauty. This was purely business.

"The boy will be most satisfied with this gift," he muttered to himself after what seemed like an age, "But he could not truly appreciate what this power is capable of. Little Peter – my nephew from across the stars – you have no idea how to handle something this complex, with this potential. You will bend your knee to me, little one, and with your power at my side I shall finally rule Asguard, in the rightful place of your dear Uncle Thor."

A mischievous smile danced on his face before he muttered, "The great Osmostinos shall be my minion until his immortality is spent."


	8. Young Mischief

The next morning was quiet. Peter awoke earlier than the others, not unusual for the hyperactive little alien, and went about stirring his beloved heroes so he might have some breakfast. They did their normal routine of grumbling before finally ascending from their beds, blinking away the sleeps' effects as their precious boy danced in front of them, off to decide exactly what he wanted for his morning meal. His fathers noticed the sudden spring in his step, although both of them were far too busy to comment on it.

"Brucey, is everything ready for class today?" asked Tony whilst he poured the child some juice, "I expect him to get a hundred percent in his next exam; no more confusing the force of gravity for the speed of light, or I'm going to be very grumpy during his evaluations." The researcher waved his hand in reply, caught up in the headlines for that morning, and only half-listening to his friend's threats as they were issued to him. Peter looked up from his smiling egg-breakfast to see the billionaire roll his eyes, before turning to gaze at his super soldier boyfriend and smile warmly.

"I'll be getting ready to go in a bit. Make sure Pete's got enough to do when I'm gone, will you? Whenever I come back he's always playing with the same things," Tony didn't understand that his son, though grateful for all of his luxurious gadgets and toys, could become easily infatuated with certain ones, despite the pull of other objects that lay within his playroom. Speaking of which, when could he expect to see Loki again?

"Daddy going cameramen," Peter muttered whilst biting into the yolk, the yellowy liquid oozing down his soft chin, "Daddy leave Tower to cameramen. Daddy back?"

"When will I be back?" the child nodded, which sent little thick droplets into the air, "I'll be home at around...two? Maybe two thirty. I won't be that long, bucko – just make sure when I do get back, you'll have some really interesting equations for my blueprints, yeah?" his words were filled with their love for physics, their adoration for the undisputed, even though young Peter only managed a grin back to his father. It wasn't his usual reaction to such things; normally he would be up on his highchair like a rocket, as if something about learning was attractive rather than repulsive and he actually enjoyed the process.

It continued on like that until ten o'clock, when Tony began preparing for his press conference. He had misplaced his good silk tie (truthfully, Bruce had taken it for a practical experiment) and searched frantically for a replacement, however the only one to be found was Steve's jokey Christmas gift, littered playfully with expertly wrapped parcels and a few candy canes. His shouts were loud enough to shake the Tower down, which he only silenced after wandering past Peter and giving him a fright.

"I'm sorry," the apology came whilst he gave the boy a quick squeeze, "I didn't mean to shout. Hey, look at this old tie, maybe we should give it back to Captain Daddy later?" a small smile erupted on Peter's soft features, the perfectly sculpted details highlighted by his happiness, although they quickly fell again when his father hurried off to the foyer. The alien followed in tiny steps.

"Daddy back?"

"Soon, Pete; I've already told you when I'll be getting home," Stark replied as he straightened out his expensive suit, "You be a good boy while I'm gone, 'cause I don't want to have to take away some of your toys. I do it because I love you, not because I want to make you sad."

Even as he said it the billionaire was distracted, more content to be fiddling with his replacement tie rather than imparting wisdom to his son, who still sat there patiently waiting for his goodbye kiss. It was almost customary that anyone leaving the house, whether they were going to the corner shop or disappearing for a few months, would kiss the top of the alien's head, just in a little way to say farewell so that he wouldn't be worried. He needed to know they would return.

"Daddy careful. Bad out Tower. Careful Daddy." Peter was nervous that his father would run into trouble, despite the fact it was just a routine press conference. He commonly held them at a hotel not far from there so he would be able to get home, usually in time to give his son a bath or start cracking down on some hard work – sometimes he even managed to fit a coffee break in that tight schedule. It was pretty much perfect.

"Don't be silly Pete," Tony chuckled slightly before grasping a brief case next to him, which had been filled by Pepper with some prep work, "There's nothing that bad out there."

With that, he yelled one final goodbye to his teammates and disappeared outside the door, a familiar 'click click' sounding as he set the child-alarm. That was a new feature to the Tower's entrance; ever since Peter had arrived, his billionaire father began on more high-tech child proofing, and invented things that did not exist on the shelves. It meant that his son could not use his powers to get out, no matter how skilled he became at them, although caused the door to close a lot slower than before.

Suddenly, a voice sounded in the child's ear, "Now, my little nephew. Run out of that door, go! Don't be frightened for whatever lies beyond, as I shall be your guide, and nothing shall harm you under my watchful gaze." Peter looked up, guessing the door was only seconds away from closing as it slowly inched towards its wooden pane. Could he really get away with something like that? He longed to see the bottom of the Tower, to run amongst the people without his fathers always telling him to be careful.

"Promise Uncle Loki?"

"Ah, my innocent nephew, I vow on my honour that nothing shall harm you. There shall be no fear out there with your Godly protector, that is my solemn promise. Now quickly; go!"

Like a warm hand had just patted his head, the child felt a sensation atop his hair. He rushed forward, a dart in the foyer, catching the door just before it shut and disappearing almost as quickly as he had reached it. Could he really do this? Could he really go and see the world by himself, without the thought of harm falling upon him? Steve would usually nag at his father to be careful, even when only taking him to the shops – but, then again, Loki was by his side! He wouldn't be harmed with the demoted Prince watching over him!

At the corner of the room, there he stood. A mischievous grin danced on his pale features and his eyes glinted, although only for the triumph of the first stage. His plan was finally coming together, right under the nose of his golden boy brother, and he would only figure it out when it was too late.

Loki's little nephew – the Great Osmostinos.


	9. Free

Peter quietly slipped through the lobby of his home, sneaking past the security guards that littered its insides. He could see Tony just beyond the glass-panelled doors beyond but, as usual for the billionaire, he did not turn back to gaze at his home and instead chose to dive straight into his limousine. The press conference was already starting – how would he ever make up time? If they were lucky, he might've been able to be fashionably late...

These thoughts were a cyclone in his head as the chauffer started them up, although none more prominent than his thinking of Peter. Too late did the tycoon realise he'd neglected the proper goodbye sequence, forgotten to place a gentle kiss on his son's forehead, and that he would most likely pay for that mistake upon returning home. That was if he did get home, since the spluttering and stalling of his hand-picked limousine was starting to play on his mind.

The child waited until the car was out of sight. He watched as its sleek black frame pulled effortlessly into the road outside, which was already heaving with the common traffic. A smile touched upon Peter's lips; he recalled Steve holding his hand tight whilst they wandered over the tarmac, the soldier's eyes moving from left to right so he could ensure the maximum safety. It was slightly insulting that now, without a single guard at his call, the alien was about to take his first steps into the unrestricted exterior. His home, his very safety would be left behind him when he did this; however he cared little, since the world seemed so wonderfully amazing to a small child, and nothing existed in it that could possibly harm him. Not _him, _with telepathic ability at his side.

Peter was finally able to escape when one of the younger guards turned, leaving the left hand side of the entrance unobserved. It was a sign, a calling if you will, that the child should have been taking these steps alone, no parent or guardian at his side except the formless Loki. His ever-watchful, ever-powerful uncle...

"Ah!" his gasp was released when the breeze hit his face, so gentle that he almost mistook it for Steve's touch. Warmth spread all around his body whilst he continued to move forward, his eyes gazing at the lovely flora arrays outside which sprang vibrant yellows and reds, as well as some greens and blues. How could Tony have kept him from being out here so much?

The busy main road was a slight problem for Peter, however quickly remedied by the nearby zebra crossing that so many others were using. He chose to wait beside a portly woman as she waited patiently, in view of the fact that cars still whizzed past on the jet black roads. The child admired its sleek monstrous back, the way the sun sort of bounced off it and yet not quite, whilst he noticed that a few painted white strips lined this creature's backbone like a mark of honour. He also saw that no one else looked upon the world in this sense, that his childish views were all untainted and new, although this was not going to dampen his first unrestricted steps outside.

Suddenly, as the cars of all colours flooded by, the child felt another presence beside him. It was familiar, experienced before; however he could not exactly describe the force until he looked up to see.

"Uncle Loki!" the spectre-like vision of his guide appeared, as if an angel transcending from heaven and with a smile that could melt ice cream cones. The shoulder-length black hair fell down the sides of his face in a complimentary fashion, highlighting his cheekbones and the way his teeth almost shone in the sunlight, whilst the man held out a friendly hand to his nephew.

"Try not to make too much conversation, Peter," he warned gently as their palms touched, "only very special people can presently see me, and you are the only special person here. Do you like the world?"

"Yes," the alien took heed of Loki's warning, in the sense that he only muttered a short reply. His uncle slowly began to help him walk over the zebra crossing, the flurry of people around them making his half-ghost half-solid form a difficulty, though he kept a smile on his pale face despite his discomfort.

"Your father's father helped create all we see before you today. From the monuments of man's successes," with one gesture the God pointed towards a well-known landmark, which had been recently defiled by youths and bored locals, "To the lesser man's dwelling. You were never subjected to the horrors of mediocrity, my nephew; however Anthony would be wise to teach you about your prey."

"Daddy work hard. Lots gadgets made by Daddy. Captain Daddy said." Peter's words were echoed by adoration, admiration, and overall a sense of pride that his fathers were such prized men. Their strengths and weaknesses didn't matter to the mindless masses outside, who only wanted to feel safe when they commuted home at night.

"That I do not doubt, Peter, but to what end does he work?" the boy's confused face was evident – Loki took a moment to smile down at him as they stepped over the curb, their hands still clutched tightly together, "You come from a prouder heritage than they do, and yet they wish for you to continue on their legacy. Look at these hapless mortals!"

After speaking the demoted prince waved his cape, the jade material sailing through the air whilst his nephew stared at the crowd. Most of their heads were down, their eyes directed, though not on the vast multitudes of books he had read or some complicated problem he solved during juice-time. They held in their hands little rectangular objects, dull cased glowing things, which seemed to buzz with energy whenever they passed by, or perhaps that was just vibrations? Loki grinned when he saw the boy's confused state of mind.

"Books?"

"In this world there is no such thing." The dark-haired man softly gazed at the child as they wandered through the park. His eyes were the picture of ignorance, blissful in his equations and yet oblivious to the truth of the world; in some ways, Loki admired Tony's efforts to protect his son, to keep his exposure limited to tabloids and newsprint, though in others he found himself condemning the billionaire's actions.

Peter's genius couldn't be simply withheld from the populace, and the potential he possessed swept under the rug. He may have been young but this didn't get rid of his duty to his race – the duty, that was, to start a new era – although in truth he only had that honour to his own people. And where were they, Loki mused to himself.

Dead. Gone. Obliterated by a jealous planet, one that was after the same thing he was right now, despite the fact they had ultimately failed to apprehend Peter. Hardly surprising; with a plot as simple as, 'Capture and kill,' there was little chance they would ever succeed.

"Books home."

"Yes, nephew, of course they are at home, but in a certain sense they have been replaced. Your adoptive race have abandoned the old ways, abandoned their forefather's very ideals, in favour of these fancy gadgets that your father has placed into their hands."

"Daddy good. Daddy feed me, help me, hug me."

Loki felt an irritated gnawing at his stomach, granted it disappeared almost as quickly as it had come about. They wandered through the beautiful green park for a moment more, mostly in silence, just admiring the way that the gorgeous bluebells danced in the breeze or the oddly shaped dogs rushed around their toys. Peter's demoted uncle had almost forgotten the pleasant simplicity of this place, and how it differed from the magic-infused homeland he was now imprisoned in.

"I am going to show you things you do not see," Loki suddenly told his nephew, "Things that Mr. Stark does not show you in his Tower. We must hurry though; too many can recognise your face here, which means that too many can tell your fathers were you are going. Quickly now."

Back on the busy main road, Tony was just getting out of his sleek stylish limousine. Vicious black smoke seeped out of its front like a virus and the chauffeur, who had been so calm before this breakdown, was suddenly begging his billionaire boss not to blame him or deduct the cost from his pay check. The respectable black and gold suit he wore was stained with slick oil grease, a slight hint that he had attempted to fix the problem himself.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's fine," the tycoon waved airily, "Don't really care; just get the damn thing fixed. Oh, and if it isn't by the time I get back, then you better start flagging me down a cab or something."

With that Stark set up a brisk pace down the street, his mind thinking on only one thing. This provided him with an almost perfect opportunity – forgetting to kiss his little boy goodbye was a mistake he didn't like, and one that he was sure to rectify whenever possible. He broke out into a sprint when the entrance came just into his sights, since there was nearly a certainty that Peter would be all the way at the top in his playroom.

"Pete? Pete! Daddy's back; I forgot to give you a kiss!" he darted through the specially modified door, although he could spy his little boy anywhere in the foyer, "Pete? Hey Steve, where's he gone?"

A distracted voice called back from the kitchen, "Is it eleven yet? He might be in his calculus class with Bruce!"

"I pushed that back to eleven thirty and made it a physics class, since I got this brilliant silk tie to start a practical," another voice called from somewhere in the upstairs laboratory.

"You've got my tie? You little – wait, so where is Peter?"

Silence descended over the rooms. Everyone racked their brains for a moment, a split second of calm, until suddenly Tony broke out into a wild sprint upstairs. He was soon joined by his muscular boyfriend, who was then followed by Bruce and Thor, although Hawkeye and Natasha spent a few more minutes tucked away in their beds whilst Fury remained upstairs. Their rampage through Peter's various rooms was history book worthy; things were upturned, thrown and the alien's little utopia was tumbled in a mere matter of seconds.

"Where is my son?!"


	10. Out in Town

The day passed by like lightning for little Peter. Led by his uncle, they wandered through New York, his untainted eyes taking in every sight there was to be seen and watching every person that passed, as if they were telling a story when they went about their day. It was not uncommon for the child to do this – from up in his Tower, in the home that he had recently broken free, Peter watched the more liberal citizens as they went about their days, completely oblivious to their young audience. It frightened him that, on some occasions, they might have considered him to be the lucky one with his billionaire father. They might've even thought a superhero environment would be a wonderful place to grow up, completely impervious to boredom or the dangers outside.

"Daddy worried?" the alien finally asked after noticing the sky, which had turned into a dark belt and was studded with diamond stars, "Daddy worried dark. I home. Home now Uncle Loki." Despite his words the demoted Prince paid no intention, his eyes directed straight in front of them whilst he kept a sturdy grip on Peter's hand. Their surroundings had changed during the long stroll around New York, turned from the beautiful custom designs of upper class areas to ugly, half-formed works of the poorer towns; it would be a valuable lesson for the boy, Loki assumed, since he had spent so long in a sheltered isolation, and Tony had kept him away from the horrors of the outside world.

"Keep away, nephew," barked the God as Peter peered curiously about. The child spied a single drunken man down an alleyway, one that was coated with grime and grease, who was attempting to stay upright whilst chugging another can of beer down his gullet. His cries echoed off the narrow stone walls around him although he didn't seem to care much for his surroundings – there was an almost unearthly sense of dread about this creature, regardless of the fact he preached for a certain...raucous love.

"Kate! Kate! Don't try to say you don't want it, you little-"

"Peter, do not listen to this wailing buffoon," Loki's voice was laced by a responsibility, like it was his duty to protect the boy in some selected aspects; "We have far too many sights for you to take a break."

"Tired now. Want home. Daddy miss me; have go home now, Daddies waiting home."

The boy, although with one eye still directed on this drunken creature, wanted to return to his Tower. It had been nice to wander the New York streets, to see everything he had been protected against and meet various people from afar, but now was the time for him to go back to his awaiting fathers. He was so exhausted that he hadn't considered their rage at his disappearance, and there was no thought to what they had been doing during his twelve hour absence. There was just that want, that need to return to Tony's arms whilst Steve gave him a soothing kiss goodnight.

"No, little nephew, there shall be no Tower until we have completed our duties. You wanted to come into this world, did you not? Or am I misjudging how much you wish to function here?"

A blatant play on the child's integration desires; however he was too engrossed in their current predicament. If Tony had been there with him, holding his hand tightly instead of the demoted prince, then Peter would be in much safer grips. He would've not been exploited quite so harshly.

"Okay."

They continued on, the dingy streets becoming ever more ragged as they walked. Peter watched whilst solid brick houses morphed into slums, hovels, where all types of drug addicts squatted and placed their homeless families, and a few large-bodied thugs strolled calmly in red checked bandanas. This was far from the cosy insides of the Tower – this place, clutched in the throngs of Western poverty, had no manner of comfort to it. The child would have been unlucky if born there, instead of taken in by his wealthy and morally upright parents. Immediate wishes to save those world-weary children came about him, although Loki was quick to usher him away.

"Place? Here?"

"This is where those of no use survive," the God of mischief had a twinkle in his eye, "Their lives are of no important and so, unlike your father, they are brushed into these forsaken residences. Nothing matters on these streets, my nephew; if I were not here you too would be taken, and most likely bargained to a thug for his narcotics." As he spoke another cry was heard, this time from the inside of a half-ruined home, which seemed to be growing its own life-forms on the greasy brick structure. The scream echoed for a moment before cutting off abruptly, however no one looked up to check if the person was alright. No one in this world cared for each other, and were only wandering the streets for their own personal gain.

"Help her," Peter's voice was small in the vastness of destitution, "help lady. Lady trouble – Daddy teach love. Daddy help!"

The alien struggled bravely against Loki's grip, in such an act that even the prince felt a tug of pride. If only he weren't so young, so powerful yet so helpless, as then he could really make a difference to this world instead of simply raising a few concerned eyebrows. His uncle looked at the men's gazes around them; he had to get Peter out of here, before one of these terrifying brutes tried to snatch him up for themselves. Especially if they recognised him...

"There is nothing we can do, nephew," he explained whilst gently pulling him away, with a whisper so soft it could've been mistaken for affection, "She has met her end in the way so many do in these streets. Your father can produce nothing to quell the blood-flow here, not unless he wants to sacrifice profit for good, and we know that he would never do that."

It carried on like this for a while; Loki's mad plot to alienate the child, bring him down to a hateful position of his father seemed to not be working, as with each piece of humanity's failures came a heightened sense of belonging to Tony. Peter would comment that his 'Daddy could make things better,' and that these people needed a good home, just like he did when he finally returned to the Tower. The demoted Prince knew that it would take some drastic methods from now on.

"Late now!" the child had been through enough as the time hit eleven, "Late! Daddies – want home with Daddies! Tired!" it was true that Peter was tired, granted it was many hours past his bedtime. Steve would've been furious if Tony let him stay up this late. Loki looked down for a moment, furious that his plan would be so slow, until he raised his gaze and smiled.

"Very well, little nephew. Goodnight," Peter's hand suddenly became free. His eyes darted up to see where Loki had gone but there was no one there, not even a speck of dust to show anyone had existed. The child's gasp – layered with tiredness and fury at his abandonment – quickly turned into sobs, as he knew that these streets were too dangerous for his lone self, and there would be little help from his parents. Maybe this solitary mission was a mistake? Maybe he'd miscalculated his want to see the sights? Tony, his father; he needed to be saved, although his actions had hardly proved the love he felt.

Suddenly, there was another voice. Upon hearing it Peter felt his stress alleviate, "Hey, kid! What're you doing all by yourself? Damn this town; mums around here need to take care of their kids, or else they'll find themselves in trouble. Come on, follow me, and we'll get you some food and drink at the station."

A police officer started to pick him up, a face softer than baby's skin and looking about the age of twelve. For a moment Peter felt secure, as if nothing could hurt him, although he realised again that only his father could ensure that, who still rested in the Tower with a heart full of hurt. They needed to be reunited...

"We'll find your parents, kid. Promise."


	11. Where I Go

Whatever this 'station' was, Peter didn't like it. No colour decorated its walls, nothing with a hint of vibrancy or a dash of creative spirit, but the child was just grateful that he had been rescued. It didn't matter whether this place was as bland as his day exciting; all that mattered was his return, to the arms of his loving parents and wrathful heroes.

"This kid was just...wandering?" the police officer had explained the situation to the chief, however little he knew about it. There was no way this baby-faced young man could've understood Peter's presence in those streets, which hummed with the worst of humanity's traits and danced in decadence.

The alien liked the chief. Standing at a monstrous seven foot tall and sporting a face plastered with scars, he seemed to be the sort of man who could tell a story, even if his thin chapped lips were not moving. It was because his eyes spoke for themselves, smouldering in a fire that Peter had never seen before, whilst somehow striking him as familiar whenever he gazed into them.

"Just wandering," replied the lesser man as they wandered into a tiny grey room, "I think he might be from one of those...you know...d-r-u-g a-d-d-i-c-t-s? Wouldn't surprise me if they got so hopped up on c-o-k-e that they left him alone." Spelling out the words provided no censorship, since the child's advanced mind could easily place all the letters together. The only question that played in his little head, the single query he wanted answered, was when Tony would be there to pick him up, and finally take him away from this place. Unnatural, unhygienic – it was a cocktail of anger here, making Peter realise that his Tower was the safest place to be. Probably the cosiest, too.

"When are they going to take care of the kids they make?" the chief was more heavy handed with their new arrival, although he was far too interested in the walls to care. They had a certain rough texture to them, a quality that Peter admired, where the paint seemed to bump over out-of-place stones and scrap over the smallest cracks. They seemed to be decorated by either an incompetent artist, or the world's most penny-saving police officer.

"I don't know, but I really hope we can find a good home for this one. Hang on," the child looked up to see his rescuer, who had suddenly donned a big grin on his face whilst trying to manufacture comfort, "What's your name little guy? Do you want something to eat?"

Peter's eyes glimmered for a moment before replying, "Daddy call little guy too. Daddy...miss Daddy. Daddies. Two Daddies. Miss Daddies." The policeman raised his eyebrows when the child spoke, as if judging his intelligence by his lack of language skills. There was an obvious problem in the way he uttered sentences; juvenile, inept, like he had not been in the presence of humans for very long. He made a mental note to mention that when the social workers came, in case it would help this little boy off the streets and into a warm safe bed.

"Two daddies? Wow – you've got a very strange set up down here, haven't you?"

"Not here. Tower. Live in Tower. Big, safe. Daddies live there."

"I bet you do kiddo!" The officer was becoming bored with games, imagining that the child had fashioned some imaginary land in the absence of a real home, "Well, there's no use leaving you in this little place. Look; the chairs aren't very comfy here, are they?" he moved one of the shiny metal seats, which seemed to almost sparkle as they had only recently been cleaned. Health and safety was finally starting to crack down in this backwards little station, although Peter had already seen little blood spatters dotted around the place.

A few hours passed. In that time the child was moved to several different locations, eventually settling in the chief's main office to play with a few building blocks, and half-watch an old block television that sat in the corner. Its colour was slightly distorted but that didn't matter – he could clearly see the ancient Spongebob episode, albeit it a little more multicoloured than he remembered. The brutish chief sat at the stained mahogany desk nearer the wall, where all the important paperwork came through before he shredded it, and partly paid attention to the inane ramblings of a talking sponge.

"You kids sure are easily pleased," he muttered despite not knowing if Peter watched it, since his head was faced down at boring black and white text. In truth the alien was doing nothing too important, save building a brand new utopia in that little station, waiting for his father to come and collect him. It was a misled hope until the telly's screen suddenly went blank, and started to buzz with a news report that the chief hadn't seen before. What was going on?

"Anthony Stark, founder of Stark Industries, has reported that his young son is missing," the make-up coated woman on screen seemed to be surprised, though that make have just been her 'natural' expression, "Young Peter Stark-Rogers was last seen inside the Tower at ten o'clock this morning. Police have circled the nearby vicinities but, so far, the child has not been found."

The official sat back for a moment, as if he were collecting his thoughts on the matter. What a coincidence that this little boy had been found on the same day a rather famous child went missing! Pictures of the heir were very few since Stark was extremely protective, in favour of his child's privacy, and it seemed Peter was never without a guardian of some description. How could he have gone missing?

"That's odd, isn't it?" he yammered to himself half-heartedly, "If I didn't know any better..."

"It is reported that Peter shares many traits similar to Mr. Stark, including dark hair and an uncanny intelligence. IQ has been ranged at around two hundred and ten, although this number has risen between different tests. A distinctive feature on the heir is that he has an unnatural power, of which has never been confirmed by his carers and yet remains to be a solidified fact within the community. If you have any idea as to where this child may be, get in contact now at the number below. Mr. Stark has offered a reward, up to fifty thousand powers for whoever returns his, quote, 'Baby back home.' More on this as we get it."

With that, the screen turned back to the senselessness of Spongebob. The chief sat back, mystified at what had just been reported, wondering to himself if that little boy was kidnapped for a ransom. If that was the case Tony was playing right into their hands, with all this money on offer for his son's return, granted that there was very little else he could do on the matter.

"Isn't that strange, little gu-" he turned his gaze towards the newcomer, and gasped with shock. A cold hand of realisation gripped his heart when his eyes clapped on it, the creation that the child birthed, from the creative skills that would rival a grown mans. His chair even seemed to rumble in awe of its greatness.

Because, standing there in all its pride and glory, was a miniature Eiffel Tower. Blocks upon blocks were stacked beside each other, so close that they seemed almost glued, whilst little Peter carried on fine tuning his handiwork in the policeman's shock. He hadn't even noticed the report since he was so in tuned with this thing.

"My God," he sighed when the child finally turned, a smile descending on his face, "Welcome to our station, Mr. Stark-Rogers. Let's get you home."


	12. Calming Charms

"I swear to God when I get hold of Pete-"

"Calm down, Tony. He's safe and sound in the station; all we have to do is pick him up and give them a reward. Peter's alright," Steve's calm voice was choked by upset, saturated with the venom of fear that had prevalent throughout the day. Their young son had been on the line here, and they could both understand why the other was so distraught, although this didn't let their little alien off the hook. How the Hell had he managed to get so far? How on earth did he find his way there, when someone must have seen him walking through? Who would let such an innocent toddler trundle the streets of New York? Especially when he was all alone...

"Calm down?! Calm down?! You heard what that man said, Steve!" Tony's hands clutched the rubber steering wheel even tighter, paling his knuckles evermore as he continued to speed down isolated roads, caution thrown to the wind, "Our little boy – our _son, _Steve – was in the bad areas all by himself! What could've happened to him?! What if someone just napped him off the streets, huh?! We'd have absolutely no idea where he was, right up until we get a note at the door for ransom money!"

A likely scenario since it was their only child, in addition to the only heir for a powerful Stark Industries. Someone could have recognised him on those streets, seen an opportunity rather than a little lost boy, and abducted him without so much as a thought for his comfort. They all wanted money out here; none of them cared for human decency, considering they would slash their own mother's throat for a single cheque. It made Tony sick to his stomach.

Steve thought carefully whilst his boyfriend continued their speed, his eyes directed at whizzing colours outside. Billboards of blue, gold, red and green whirled past at an inconceivable pace as they, small and insignificant to the grand creation, went to rescue their beacon of light. He was, after all, the only person so important to them, and not for the research purposes he still held. Too young to fend for himself, too clever to be pitted against poverty – he was something...someone special, who required more love and affection than others could give.

Finally, the super soldier broke their silence, "I know you're angry but that's no reason to break the speed limit. Slow down a little bit at least, and start thinking about what you're gonna say to Pete."

"What do you mean? He's getting grounded until he's twenty five! I don't care about all this 'positive reinforcement,' crap; he could've been really hurt tonight, especially without us! Don't you care at all Steve?! Weren't you scared?"

The word slipped out almost independently. Tony jumped to control it for a moment, wondering if it would lower his position in the leader's eyes, although he could see by a soft twinkling glint that it hadn't. In fact if anything, it had done quite the opposite. Rogers always loved seeing his boyfriend's dedication to their child, even when it meant he would fly into a rage and demand some form of punishment, since it showed that Peter was forever in safe hands. Who would've thought this reckless entrepreneur would transform like this, into an example-setting father figure? It seemed only yesterday that Steve sat in the living room, waiting for a more-than-regular bailout call, and asking himself why such a fool had been placed into his team.

"Of course I was scared. We were all scared. But that doesn't matter now Tony, because Pete's safe with law enforcement and, no matter where they are, they'll protect him."

The billionaire's arms eased slightly, his eyes still fixed on the road as he muttered, "Do you really think so?"

"Don't be silly; they won't hurt him just because he's ours, Tony," Steve placed a hand on his broad shoulder, "Not everyone agrees with what we're doing, maybe, but they aren't going to take it out on Pete. Not the decent ones anyway. Besides, if we can't trust the police to watch our boy, then who can we?"

Tony didn't reply to his lover, although he wanted to do nothing more than stop the car and hug him. It had been a rollercoaster of emotions that day, a circus ride of pure terror, so much so that the tycoon had been forced to cancel his arrangements and send servants round for coffee. His hands were still shaking from the anxiety that their son was gone, out of their loving grasps and into harsh unforgiving terrain.

"Thanks, Steve. I needed to hear that," the car suddenly slowed on the road, like Tony's mood had a direct effect on its acceleration, whilst both men experienced that familiar feeling. It often happened when they were comforting each other, since they knew these were the most vulnerable areas of their lover's psyches. Requiring love and affection they tended to each other, as if overcome by emotions of maternity when they saw the wounded souls.

"So, about that grounding..."

"I'm not changing my mind about it. He might be all cute and cuddly on the outside but I'm telling you, that kid knows what he's doing, and if we don't stop him now then it's just going to get worse. I would've thought that you'd be happy about some more discipline."

"I'm ecstatic about it; there's just one problem I have with the terms," Tony raised his eyebrow and cast a sideways glance, even though he knew the road was far more important, "The length. Peter's just curious about outside, Tony, considering we barely let him out there, even with us. Why don't we just ground him for a month – two months, at a stretch – and then start letting him out there, bit by bit?"

The billionaire wasn't thrilled about this new idea. What if someone tried to take his little alien? What if someone tried befriending him on the streets, only to hurt him in ways they couldn't imagine? He couldn't sit there and know, know that his actions had led to Peter getting hurt.

But Steve was too quick for his boyfriend, "I see that look in your eyes. You can't keep him locked up forever; sooner or later, he's going to start rebelling, which means it's about time we start teaching him how to get by on his own. Come on Tony, you know I'm right."

Moments passed, seconds that somehow became to eternity, "Fine, fine! We can start taking him out more..._only _to the park for now, so I can keep my eyes on him."

In another world, the supermen's special moment was being closely observed. A dark haired God watched them with such intent, with such ferocious intent that it seemed almost uncouth. He wanted to know what those two were up to, just in case they gave him something to work with, make his job a little easier than it already was.

Osmostinos would bend his knees, whether they liked it or not.


	13. Terrified Pressure

The Tower was restless when Peter came home. Bruce sat in the living room, comfortably perched on the edge of his favourite seat, whilst the others paced in erratic zigzagging patterns, waiting for news of their little boy. Even Fury was present downstairs, his hands clutched around a scotch glass and his eyes directed out the arch-like windows. They were terrified by the time he arrived; it was understandable since, for a good period of his life there, he had a tendency for getting kidnapped.

"Where the Hell have you been?!" Surprisingly it was Barton who shouted first, as if all the team's anxiety spilled through his lips, "Do you know how worried we were?! There's been news reports, police searches – you're going to be all over the TV tomorrow!" his anger caused the child to jump back, into the solid legs of his father as the rest of the team clambered around him. They were mostly joyful, ecstatic that their young boy was finally returned to them.

"Did they say how he got there?" Bruce, who had been responsible for a large portion of the search, asked as he stroked Peter's head, "All the satellites I rerouted couldn't find him, and somehow he turns up in the bad areas? How did he end up down there?"

A question that plagued Tony's mind, although not one he could find an answer to. For all they knew Peter simply wandered off, his little mind set on finding some adventure, which would've led him to rather unique discoveries. Well...it would've made an interesting tale, perhaps.

"No, I don't think he wants to say either." Steve was the one to reply, speaking as he hung their designer coats up and ran a hand through his hair. Whatever punishment they had planned for Peter was on hold, since such grim topics could be discussed after their reunion.

"Really? Why not?" Bruce turned his head to stare at the leader, his hand never leaving Peter's dark locks, "I would've thought he'd be more than happy to talk."

"He hasn't stopped talking," Tony cut in whilst picking his son up, who by this point was becoming weary, "He's talked about what he saw, who he saw and why he thinks it's there, but nothing about what happened. I'm thinking he just ran out when I left. It's my fault he went."

Steve watched as his boyfriend's face fell, its usually handsome features becoming creased by upset, "Hey, don't think like that. He's smart enough to know; when the doors open, he doesn't go near it. This is no one's fault but Peter's." A sideways glance was passed to the boy; however he was too tired to defend himself. All that remained for this day was to go to bed, with or without the 'souvenirs' he had collected.

"I guess you're right. Still, I'll be changing the baby-proofing locks; just to be sure he won't get out again. We don't want another fiasco like this, do we?"

In truth, Tony didn't want to be that scared again. The way he had reacted to Peter's disappearance, the way he had screamed, terrified him, even though it was to be expected. Was this the sting of fatherhood he felt? The fear that, no matter what he did, his son would never be entirely safe? Would he ever be able to fully relax again, when his boy left the Tower's safety and ventured the world by himself? These thoughts were a cyclone in his head as he took the child, off to bed for his long-awaited sleep.

The team spent the next moments in silence. They listened for Tony's telltale footsteps, the ones that usually stomped overhead during Peter's bedtime, and waited until they heard them slowly fade away. There was much that Fury needed to tell them, regardless of the short timeframe.

"Peter's little stunt will be all over the tomorrow's news," he broke the droning quiet like a warrior slashing through grass, "My superiors are _not _going to be happy – this'll make us look like a bunch of hapless toddlers! If we can't look after a kid, how the Hell are we going to protect a world?"

Steve glanced up, rage dancing in his smouldering blue depths, "We look after Peter fine, apart from this one little incident. Maybe we went a little overboard looking for him, _maybe _we should've waited to call the police, but what did you expect us to do?"

"He's got a point, Nick," Bruce spoke up from his position, back in that comfortable red chair, "Peter's what you call a, 'Celebrity Baby,' now; there's going to be a lot of people who want him, and for a lot of different reasons. You'd be the first to know they aren't all good."

Fury closed his one good eye for a moment, as if pondering his argument. The team often forgot that, despite his ties to SHIELD and his requirement to fulfil their orders, he truly cared for Peter, like he was the child's grumpy old grandpa who openly scolded but, silently, praised.

"They're gonna use this as an argument, y'know," Hawkeye muttered as he pressed against the window. Its clear glass misted slightly when he moved, "They're trying to make Pete part of the team. We aren't the ones endangering our kid here, Fury, and you know that."

"Of course I know that, but I don't have a choice in the matter. Peter's a remarkable person."

"He sure is. He's intelligent, curious and has a lot of potential; they don't mean that though, do they? They want him just because he can move things without touching them. They want to exploit Peter – Anthony Stark's son, for Christ's sake! – just so they can sleep better at night. He's not cut out for fighting yet...what happens when they realise this?"

Bruce's question was a new revelation to the others, granted Fury had already thought about it. The SHIELD director knew the full extent of his superior's wrath, how they dealt with the disappointments, although he had hoped no one would comment on it.

"They'd really hurt...?" Steve's eyes lost their vibrancy. For a brief second he seemed to lose his strength, his amiability, transforming into a terrified husk that bore no resemblance to his nature. It was a few moments until he regained himself, "No. You tell your superiors that I don't care what they say; Tony was right all along on this. They are _not _making my son risk his life!"


	14. Love of Night

Steve did care. Sometimes Tony said things which made it seem like he didn't, but in truth the super soldier cared greatly for Peter. He was his son after all, his little boy who had so much potential, and there was nothing more he wanted than to see the alien succeed in life. As he sat there on his bed he pondered on it, wondering whether Peter knew the extent of his love or the things he would do for him; there wasn't much that he wouldn't let the child have, save the odd gadgets and luxuries that were ridiculous for one so young.

The red sheets lying on his bed were freshly cleaned, as if Tony's mishap with coffee that morning had never occurred. Steve looked down at it with disgust because, in all honesty, these decorations were not to his tastes, especially not the fashionable ornaments and light gold fringing on his curtains. He was contented with a simple room of white, one that possessed an oil painting or two for sophistication and perhaps a single television, although not these gigantic monstrosities the tycoon owned. A block one that some of the richer folk had in his time would have been enough, despite Tony's insistence of, 'bigger is better.'

Peter was resting in his own accommodation, still upset over the whole ordeal. As a young child of the Tower there wasn't much to do, not much that wouldn't endanger his life, and he was starting to feel the pressure weighing down on him. If it wasn't his fathers vying for perfection, it was the team's condemnation for a little freedom – the child was starting to feel he would never be free, since it seemed every move he made would further anger his beloved carers.

"They are so hard to please," another voice whispered into his ear, so softly that he thought Tony had come back, "It is impossible to fulfil their wishes, my nephew. They shall ask so much of you and, when you struggle to meet those requirements, they shall toss you aside. It is the order of things, you see."

Loki's words were gentle to the child's ears, although the message couldn't have been harsher. He was saying that his fathers – the men who had happily searched, fought and cared for him – were starting to lose their affection, and would soon abandon Peter in some quest or other. The demoted prince lovingly tucked his nephew in as he listened to the child's sobs, with such patience that it could belong to a saint.

"Daddy sad," cried the boy whilst clutching Loki's hand in his, the larger man's effectively trapped between the two smaller, "Daddy sad, Captain Daddy mad. Peter bad, Peter stupid, Daddy make better."

The God looked at his little friend, and then gazed at the hands clutching his. They were small, soft, as if he had been religiously soaked in baby oil and his appendages replaced with silk, although to his coarse skin anything would be gentle. It was the adorableness of Peter's innocence that captured Loki, considering it was rare for one so young to be in tune to the suffering around him.

"Your father could attempt something so foolish, perhaps," he replied as their fingers playfully intertwined, "He thinks himself to be invincible, and would get a pitiful idea that he could create something more immaculate than you. He does not understand your potential, my nephew, nor does he deserve to wield the strength you possess; when I left you in that street I thought you to be safe, I assumed that Anthony would be quick to find you. We both miscalculated his dedication, I believe, as it took him so long to discover your whereabouts."

Peter started to cry again, but this time more in pain than upset. He didn't like thinking these things, having doubts in his head about his father; however the evidence seemed to be present, and he was too young to understand the complications of his journey. How was Tony to know after all, when he thought his son would be doing calculus? How was he to determine when Peter would go missing? If it weren't for those police officers and a chance news broadcast, they would still be clueless to the boy's location.

"Shh, little one, do not cry." Loki's eyes had widened slightly, like he wasn't sure how to deal with a wailing infant. Small sparks of pain seemed to jolt through those dark green depths, the same colour as his little nephews, and it was almost out of instinct that his hand stroked the ruffled edges of Peter's hair. The alien looked up, his mouth flooding with the salty tang of tears and his face red from sadness.

"Daddy love me, Daddy build better," whispered the boy through his treacherous tears, "Peter stupid."

For a moment, Loki lost himself. He saw his nephew in front of him, the gentle features of Osmostinos and the innocence of Peter, but in mind existed his own childhood. This alien was obviously different – he was a fortunate only child, equipped with the finest of gadgets and the latest of toys – and yet, somehow, they resembled each other so closely it was almost terrifying. The demoted God placed a single soft peck on the boy's cheek before he muttered one phrase, the only thing he could think to put him at ease.

"You are a gift from the universe, a true mastery of creation," as he spoke their fingers begin to play, Peter's smaller ones battling with Loki's larger, "Your powers should not be condemned, little one, for they are the very thing that our worlds have worked to achieve. You are not only Peter Stark-Rogers, son of a billionaire and child of a science experiment; you are the great Osmostinos, and entire species shall crumble at your feet before you cry over one man."

They both looked at each other, dark green irises locking and the world around them melting. It seemed that Loki did care for the child, perhaps, to the extent where he wanted him to know of his power and what could be his, although the darker leaning was much more plausible...

Suddenly, Peter's door opened. The boy's head snapped away from just a second, a moment of surprise that broke his contact with Loki, as the demoted prince vanished from sight and left his nephew clutching thin air. A flood of light poured into his room before he heard the smallest voice whisper.

"Hey Pete, it's Captain Daddy," Steve's words, however not with the strength he was known for, "I just wanted to check you were alright...that you'd gotten to sleep okay. Why aren't you resting?"

It was a while until the tiny voice replied, "Sad. Scared. Alone." Those words, coupled with the intense fear that lined his son's speech, were enough to bring a tear to the man's eye, which he wiped away to speak again.

"You've not been scared of your room before. What's up little guy?"

"Daddies mad. Daddies mad, make me sad. Make me cry when Daddies mad."

Another tear-jerking comment, granted Steve had already decided on his remedy, "Aw, little guy – we're not really mad at you. We're more...disappointed that you've not listened to us; we only want what's best for you Pete, and you really put yourself in danger today when you ran off."

"Daddy doesn't care."

"Of course Daddy cares, but he's so relieved you're back that he doesn't want it happening again. That's why he moaned at you Pete. You know he loves you so much, just like I do." The super soldier shuffled into to his son's bedroom, wearing the pyjamas that he deemed 'appropriate' for these visits. They were only normal clothes but they were a step up from his usual sleepwear.

Peter could hardly look at the man when he replied, "Do Daddies love me?"

The question surprised Steve. He had often told the boy of their affection, most commonly at the breakfast table when everyone was just waking up, although he had never actually _told _him about it. Maybe he thought it was just a given? Their son was just so clever, so bright that he assumed...

Perhaps that was his fault.

Before he knew what he was doing, the man almost glided over to Peter's bed and sat down on the soft silk sheets. A quick mental note was made in his head, to alert the maids about a few non-threatening stains and warn them to properly fold his sheets in the morning, but these were gone the second he gazed into Peter's eyes. Those dark green, shimmering eyes...

"We love you so much, Pete," his hands gently stroked the alien's head, in a way of reassuring him, "We haven't and we won't ever stop loving you. You're the whole world to us, both of us, and, no matter what you do in life, me and Daddy will be there to support you every step of the way. Come on, champ; if you're not going to go to sleep, let's run downstairs quick and make some hot chocolate."

And so off they went, hand in hand like father and son, down a perilous journey towards the kitchen. It seemed endless for Peter sometimes but that was to be expected, since he was such a small being in such a large home; for Steve it was more or less a norm now, that he should get lost in this magnificent construct which his boyfriend so valiantly kept.

Tony was not in his room that night. If the pair had taken just one wrong turn they would've found their beloved billionaire, locked in a near battle with Peter's miniature suit. Gears and gismos clunked together as he fought to gain the upper-hand, a spanner in one clenched fist whilst blueprints laid casually beside him.

"DAMN IT," he shouted after the suit uttered a roar, "I thought that would work!" his face was twisted in pure frustration as the equipment stood in front of him, almost laughing in triumph when the genius turned to his plans.

"Perhaps sir wishes to retire for the night?" JARVIS' mechanical voice sounded whilst Tony looked over the various diagrams, "My internal clock states it must be nearing dawn now. This could possibly wait another night, surely?"

"Nope, I'm not going to put this off. It's for Peter – I'm going to stay on this project until it's finished, and it will be by the time it's his birthday. Still got that date set, JARVIS?"

"After your threatening of my decommissioning, sir, I have made it my top priority."

"Good," Tony turned again, one calloused hand rubbing against his goatee, "I'll finish this for you, Pete."


	15. New

The next few days were, for the most part, quiet. Peter had been put on severe sanctions, which meant that homework and chores would be issued on a daily basis, and his already limited freedom was further restricted. The young alien couldn't even be in his playroom alone, unless Bruce was doing work in an adjacent laboratory.

"I'm only doing this because I want you to do well," Tony explained every night, when his son was given a plate full of vegetables and left without sweets, "You'll thank me later. Well, at least that's what the internet's been saying!"

Steve didn't go against his boyfriend, although he thought the punishment was slightly harsh. As a rule the super soldier refused to trust anything, any shred of information that came from a website, and that immediately contrasted with Starks' subservience. When would he get it into his head? Fatherhood couldn't be taught, especially not from strangers with entirely different situations.

However, not everyone was unhappy with the changes. Bruce Banner, although sympathetic to his little nephew, found that his reprimanding was extremely convenient; after all, now the team's attention was directed at him, which meant that certain things that the genius did went unnoticed. No one mentioned how long he spent online...

"Eat up, little guy," Steve encouraged Peter that night, whilst the boy picked at a large plate of broccoli. The miniature green trees were flooded with seas of tomato ketchup, the tiny leaf-buds coated with blood red rain, though this didn't make it easier to stomach. His small eyes glared up at his father, as if it was his fault that such disgusting things existed.

"Full. Bedtime." Peter's voice, laced with an anger that could scarcely be described, was sharper than usual. Even Tony noticed a change in attitude as his son pushed the plate away, an eye directed towards the super soldier and another on Bruce, who had been texting on his phone for most of the meal. In addition to these subtle notes, the child hadn't commented on Natasha's absence or even Clint's new hairstyle; it were as if he had shut the outside world away, so that he could put up with these new reforms on his life.

"No, Pete. You're not leaving until it's all eaten, okay?" The tycoon affirmed, a glass of wine balanced between his hands, "Come on – I don't want to extend this punishment. What'll happen if we have to move it over your birthday?"

The alien glared back up at his father. A challenge sparked in his eyes, like there was some argument to be won between them, "Birthday stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Sad birthday. Not happy at birthday." With a great sweep of the arm, Peter scattered the little pieces of broccoli on the floor, in such a defiant act that even Bruce looked up. Tony's face became touched with red as he muttered in reply.

"Everyone's worked really hard on your birthday; it's not stupid," Fury's head cocked to one side, mainly because he hadn't done anything in preparation, "You've got to sort that attitude out, right now young man. I don't want to-"

Before he could even finish his sentence, Peter's eyes shone a blood red. The water that had been sitting next to him froze, ice cold droplets falling from the clear glass, and the straps of his high chair began to unfasten. What was this defiance? They hadn't seen this in him before, not in their precious little alien.

"Hey, I'm speaking to you!" The screams went unheeded as Peter raised his own body, his powers at play despite the 'rules of the Tower'. What was going on?

"Pete? Come on little guy; come back! We'll make you some cake if you really want?" Steve's words were met with no response, although in truth he wasn't expecting one. The tycoon he loved so much was so infuriated, so angered by their son's disobedience that he might've turned red, if it weren't for the sudden notice of Bruce's phone. It buzzed as the awkward silence droned on, indicating that another message had arrived since Peter's little disappearance.

Tony raised an eyebrow, before he decided to discard his boy and pay more attention to the team, "Who's that then, Brucey?"

"Hm? Oh, that? No one."

"You've been on your phone an awful lot recently," the super soldier was eager for a subject change, "Someone taking up all your time?"

"My friends, I think that our scientist has made a relation!" Thor, who had been happily cleaning Peter's plate off, was peering now at the small little mini-computer in Bruce's hand. He was always baffled by these 'phones', sometimes more so than Steve did, although he was more open to learning about them, since this was the 'science' of Earth.

"What? Are you serious?" the genius' laugh was forced, so exaggerated that even Steve could see through it, "Me? Build a relationship on the internet? That's ridiculous – you're all being ridiculous."

Tony was the next to laugh, granted that his was more natural, "We didn't say anything about the internet, Brucey."

"Oh...oh well, you know I just assumed you meant-"

"Mr. Banner, I hope you're not trying to hide a new girlfriend from us? No, that can't be true; you'd never do something like that!"

Bruce's face was flushed a deep scarlet, his hands shaking as he gripped the mobile. There was nothing he could say now, nothing that would regain his position, as it seemed his little secret had come out. He'd managed for a good few weeks to keep it quiet but, no matter how well you hid something, Tony Stark always managed to find it out.

"So, who is the lucky lady?"

"Her name's Joanna. She's...she's brilliant, really – I met her a little while ago on a science site. We both commented on the validity of renewable energy sources, and it led to us talking almost every night."

"That's got to be the world's worst meeting. But, hey, guess it worked," the billionaire could hear Peter upstairs, feel the power seeping from the walls, "Have you two met yet?"

"We're planning to. I was thinking of taking her out, somewhere she hasn't been before, like maybe the-"

"Why not here, Bruce?" Thor cut in as he poured some more wine, "I am sure your new lady friend would be impressed, surely, if she knew of your residence."

The scientist's face blushed again, before he said, "She knows I live here. My username is, 'GreenScienceExperiment,' and she asked about it."

"Excellent! Then she should come here, so that we may all meet her!"

Whilst these plans were being made, Peter was sitting in his bedroom. The use of his powers was liberating, a true jolt of freedom, although the exhilaration of this was peppered by knowledge. He knew that, when they were calm enough to do so, his fathers would continue their assault, instead of understanding his pain. Why did they ever rescue him?

_Many stars,_ thought the alien as he parted the curtains, _many stars. Peter belong. Peter belong there._

"Nephew?" he didn't turn to the sound of Loki's voice, "I sensed your distress from my prison cell. Such anger! What is it that infuriates you so, or have you finally come to enlightenment?"

Peter spent a few moments contemplating his options, on whether or not he would ignore his uncle. Not much had happened between them lately, save the odd lectures on his power and a few games of hide and seek, but the boy felt slight discomfort when hearing of these things. It were as if...no, that couldn't be.

"I see you are in no mood for discussion," two hands went around Peter's waist, a head appeared on his tiny shoulder, "What has happened?"

"Daddy mad now. Daddies mean me. Birthday stupid – Peter stupid."

Loki waited for a moment, allowing the boy to cry slightly before he muttered, "Soon, my nephew, they shall meet new people, and you shall become nothing but a faint memory. You will be lost to the allure of these intruders, although this is no reason for tears."

"Uncle Loki..."

"Hush, Osmostinos," a hand stroked against Peter's soft cheek, frozen to the touch, "Quiet. I shall not allow you to become abandoned once more, especially not by mere mortals such as they. Patience; our time for meeting has come ever closer, and then it shall be my responsibility to care for you."

"But...Daddies..."

"Give it time, my Osmostinos. You shall be glad to belong to me, to rule over Asguard as we are destined. When they regain their social appetites, so they proceed to lose interest in you – we will be united in our anger, nephew."

With that, the demoted prince disappeared. Peter cried out in a small, tear-choked voice but there was no reply, no whisper that said he was still there, watching over the alien as he had done so often before.

Surely his fathers wouldn't lose interest? No new people would come to their home, try to threaten Peter's position, since the supermen loved him with all their hearts. Didn't they?

"So, it's settled then," Steve smiled as he gazed around the table, staring in turn at Fury, Thor, Bruce and Tony, "She'll come here on Monday. I can't wait to meet your new girlfriend."


	16. Working for You

Tony was in his laboratory that night, tinkering with calculations he had so lovingly balanced. Each modification he made possessed its use, its necessity, although he was more concerned about the overall design right now. How could he model this properly? Complex structures were hard to remake, especially when there were no original blueprints, and it seemed Peter had crafted this thing entirely from scraps; the billionaire couldn't help a smile as he imagined, thought of how his son resembled himself.

"Right...so if I weld that there..." he mumbled quietly whilst positioning things, in places where they seemed the most efficient and yet, somehow, still looked stylishly sleek. It was, of course, one of the most important factors – if Peter Stark-Rogers had a mechanical suit, one that possessed watered down traits of his father's, then it should at least have the same sense of style.

In blue, as Steve had so rigidly insisted.

"There! That works!" he smiled to himself when a small 'click' sounded; it was a little message, like a Morse-code cry for help, that told him his little boy would be safe in this masterpiece. After all, Peter's security was the utmost priority, which meant that everything had been fashioned around it.

Their dinner conversation played on his mind. The idea that Peter, the usually mild-tempered little angel, was furious at his birthday, seemed to be strangely...alien to them. He couldn't have been angry, it simply wasn't possible, since so much effort had been put into the preparations. Even though they were mostly behind-the-scenes...

Suddenly, another voice entered his sanctuary, "You've got to come to bed, Tony. There's not been one night you haven't worked on this, not one single night – it's time you got some sleep, don't you think?"

Steve loomed by the opened door, his silhouette outlined by a heavenly glow, and his face set in an angelic expression. He was worried for his boyfriend who, by this point, had spent a good two hours in his work-mode, and had drunk more than half his bodyweight in coffee. Such a routine wasn't good for him. Really, it wasn't good for anyone.

"I'll go to bed later," another of his infamous promises, the ones that weren't ever kept, "I've just got to finish this first, if you want it to be safe for Pete. He's been acting weird lately." It was an off-hand comment; however Steve chose to focus on that instead of his refusal.

"What do you mean?" asked the super soldier as he wandered in, stealing a few glances at all the unfinished projects and promising pieces, "He's just been a bit disobedient. Back in my day that wasn't usual but, 'specially in this time, it seems to be the norm. What's got you worried?"

"I didn't say I was worried! Just that...I'm slightly more concerned than normal," the tycoon wasn't comfortable in this discussion, considering he never spoke about his feelings, and only sarcastically about his concerns.

Steve felt a smile erupt on his face, although he tried desperately to hide it, "Give him time Tony, he's just having a bad day. By tomorrow he'll be waking us up at six, ready to have some breakfast and talk our ears off about class."

"Promise?" the genius' voice was so quiet, so child-like that it was almost pathetic. Instead of the strong capable Ironman, Steve saw instead his vulnerable Anthony Stark, a man beaten by stereotype and hounded by societal norms. A man who, despite all of his arrogance, needed to be cared for, rather than pushed out into the open like a sick dog.

"Promise," their fingers intertwined and, for a brief second, they fell into a place only they knew. This land was empty apart from them, cold if not for their breathe, and dappled with their understated love; it was, in all senses, a place that only they could inhabit.

But they had to come out of it sometime. Steve turned his head to gaze around him, catching a glimpse of his son's unfinished present as he did so, which caused him to smile again. Circuits hung limply from its chest, a few gears in need of placement on the floor, and it still seemed to be perfect. All things did when Tony made them.

"How's it gonna, y'know," the leader poked its metal casing, as if he were afraid it would jump at him, "Fly?"

"Easy. There's rockets on the soles and palms – it'll be a restricted flight though, so don't worry. When he reaches a certain height they'll register it, start powering down and bring him back to the Tower."

Steve's eyes were wide despite the restrictions, which wasn't surprising. In his time, rockets had been a bad thing, an evil weapon wielded by the craziest of dictators; however now it seemed his own son, his little boy from the stars would wear them, in the same way that Tony did. What madman would do that?

"ROCKETS? Like, fuel-powered ones?"

"Relax Steve, they're the safest money can buy," his boyfriend was quick to defend the constructs, "I'm going to do a few modifications to make them even safer, so just relax about it. Pete's not going to get hurt, he's never going to get hurt, not while I have a say in it."

As he spoke the billionaire returned, huddling into that position he was in before. The soldier watched whilst he began gathering up the objects and, for the strangest moment in time, seemed to be at a loss. What to do next? Would he work on the inside, or finally fit the power source?

Like he could read his mind, Steve gripped his beloved's hand and muttered, "Let's just go to bed. This can wait 'til tomorrow, can't it?" Tony seemed to be contemplative for a moment, until the soldier bribed, "I'll sleep in your room?"

Lightning fast reactions were made, gestures that couldn't be caught on camera, and the pair were suddenly absent from the room. Gadgets and tools were left on the floor, abandoned for a better option, although they would be taken up again soon. Little Peter's birthday wouldn't wait forever.

And Tony was determined to impress.


	17. Play

Peter's room had grown cold. A light breeze drifted in from his window, which had been opened for some reason or other, as the alien sat in the middle, watching the curtains dance in the wind. They seemed so free, so happy, there without limits or restraints. They were what Peter envied. They were inanimate objects, ones that needed no protectors or 'carers' to live.

"Fly," he muttered to himself after what seemed like an age, although in reality only a second, "Fly home. Stars, sky. Peter belong there." It was reasonable, to some extent; the boy felt enclosed in this life, trapped, whilst his young mind couldn't grasp what was necessary. All these problems he could solve, and yet it seemed he would never understand these human motives. Tony wanted to protect him, for God's sakes! They were only looking after him, especially once his social status came into the equation.

Loki had told him things over the weeks – information that he didn't know, and occasionally a small test on what he'd learnt. Peter, according to the demoted prince, was no more a child than he was a God, a fearsome predator that needed to stalk the stars and prey on the weak minded, but had been dealt a bad hand by fate. He was entitled to a share of the universe and, with that in mind, required a better guide. Who was more suited to such a role? The billionaire Anthony Stark, who probably had more money than sense, or rightful King Loki, a man with real potential? It wasn't really a contest when compared.

"Peter's going to be asleep," Steve's voice echoed through the halls which caused the boy to turn, despite hearing it many times that night. It had been louder a few minutes ago, wrenched in a discussion with Tony, but he didn't have the interest to go look. Perhaps he was hurt? Maybe he was badly injured, and cared only for his little boy's safety? A plausible explanation, although not one Peter fully understood.

"I know he's going to be asleep," the tycoon's words were closer, as if he wasn't far off from his son's room, "I'll be really quick; why don't you run downstairs and grab a snack? Don't forget to make me one too! A ham sandwich with pickle, thanks!"

Tony was loud now, like he had completely forgotten Peter's 'sleep'. It must have been at least eleven o'clock now – four hours past his usual bedtime, however under these circumstances, it wasn't a mystery he was still awake.

The white door creaked open. Light flooded into Peter's room, washing over everything that the alien had received or owned, whilst all he could do was sit there expectantly. There would surely be a punishment, another reprimanding, although when his father loomed in, nothing but love dappled his features. His usually light details were darkened now, his sleep deprivation becoming evident, granted it didn't weaken his smile.

"Why are you still up, Pete?" his voice was loving, gentle, "It's way past your bedtime."

There was no reply. Instead the alien turned back, eyes directed at the window whilst Tony waited. A good few minutes passed before he spoke again, this time with more uncertainty in his voice, though a higher note of authority.

"Have you even been in your bed tonight?" still, there was no answer, "It's all made up. You've just been sitting there then, have you?"

"Daddy go bed." Finally, a reply! It didn't matter if it came in an order, a challenge to Tony's dominance and a reference to his leadership. All that mattered was Peter, and how he felt.

"What do you mean?"

"Daddy go bed. Dark now – Daddy yell me but, dark now. Daddy sleeps. Don't up in morning, but Daddy sleeps."

"I won't get up in the morning? Is that what you're saying?" his voice was suddenly alive, as if he had taken it as a threat rather than a simple observation, "Why won't I get up in the morning? Or, are you saying I never get up? That's not fair Pete; you always come into my room, because you always want your breakfast! Are you saying I don't get up for you?"

A sigh passed Peter's lips, before he turned again and stared at his father. There was something in his eyes, something that danced within the dark green depths, that told him of his thoughts, and would perhaps frighten those less suited. Tony, by this point at least, had become used to these subtle changes.

"Are you okay?"

"Questions. Daddy ask questions. Daddy solve some, but most ask. Peter sad at solving. Peter want to play."

As if on cue, a little mechanical monkey came out from his bed, chattering away with recorded sounds and plastic symbols. Tony watched whilst it tapped a small tune, one he couldn't stand but didn't have the energy to stop. Why was he acting like this? Peter normally wasn't disobedient, didn't use his powers in a creepy way – come to think of it, he never used his powers indoors! Not after that mishap with Bruce's compass...

"You're tired," he said, brushing off the child's thoughts like they were nothing, "It's time you went to bed. Come on; I'll tuck you up now, if you want?" more a request than an offer, Peter clambered into his bed and allowed for the routine procedure. His father was more loving than usual, careful to adjust the silk duvet and plump his luxury pillows, although he never stopped staring at that toy monkey.

It meant something, he was sure of it.

"I love you, Pete," he leaned down for a kiss but, on impact, he found the child's skin colder. His forehead was so chilled it could practically freeze, despite the constant heating they had on, which caused him to suddenly notice the window was open. The billionaire slowly walked up to it, inspecting its broken lock like it was a crime scene.

"Love you Daddy." With that, his angel fell asleep. Under that pile of silk Peter snored, just as his father did on a lazy day in, whist Tony continued to inspect the snapped mechanism. Hadn't he just recently added that? Another 'baby-proofing' scheme Steve had conjured?

How had it been broken?


	18. Understand

"Have you spoken to Pete?" Tony asked his boyfriend that morning, soon after his third cup of coffee and long before his crossword, "He hasn't come downstairs for breakfast. Is he feeling sick?"

Steve's eyes flicked up from his own food, which had been poorly prepared by Bruce. He would've done it himself, perhaps to a better standard, although, after a brief chat about Joanna, the scientist seemed more than happy to help. There was even some more coffee, granted Tony didn't dare touch it. He had seen his lover's reaction.

"No, I don't think so," the reply was layered with pain, understandable given his meal, "Maybe he's slept in? Wouldn't surprise me; Pete's starting to act more like his dad every day. You're hardly an early bird."

Stark was in no mood for jokes, "Still, he's always down for breakfast. The smell normally wakes him up, if not that then Thor's voice. Has someone been to check on him yet?"

Whilst he spoke, bringing a white mug to his face and staring at the leader, he didn't see Natasha come in. Her hair was dyed a strange dark green and her face studded with jewellery, regardless of her disgust for the look. What wouldn't she do for SHIELD? Anyone would think she liked being ridiculed, especially by the caffeinated Tony, who had finally caught sight of her and burst out laughing. Droplets of coffee launched into the air like rockets as he did so, showing no attempt to control himself or even calm down.

"Oh yeah, it's so funny," she sarcastically growled, "I haven't just spent six days camping out at a hippie rally. Do you know how many showers those people have? None – they have these little wash buckets, so we don't, 'pollute the earth for our animal friends.' Argh!" she turned to the toaster, which had been polished by one of JARVIS' systems. There was no moaning now that it was smudged, or that a few crumbs still sat around the slots; the agent was just happy to see some technology.

"I'm sorry but, if you come back like that, I'm going to laugh," his face was bright red as he replied, tinged slightly by a breathless purple, "How was the mission?"

"Not a total loss, I guess. I bought this great necklace from a woman called Clarabelle; she told me it was made of ancient tin, though it's just copper painted blue. Where's Pete? I got him a present," her smile seemed to float around the room, highlighting everything in its path and making her features glow. Talking about the child always made her happy, sometimes to the point where it was maternal, although she had frequently denied any motherly feelings for him. There was a rule in the Tower – all the responsibility was on the men, and she only had to dress him up every now and again. It was a perfect balance of activity and, more enjoyably, laziness.

Tony's head jumped up, his eyes ablaze whilst she spoke, "Disinfect it first. Give it to the maid to clean or something; last time I let Pete get something non-brand, he got sick for a week. Do you know how ill he gets? Very!"

"To be fair, that was only one time," Steve's voice was meek, defending Natasha's stance despite his agreement, "You've never bought him anything non-brand since. I'm starting to worry about his designer clothes; he gets them all dirty and you just throw them out. A bit wasteful, right?"

"Ah, but my dear," a French accent was put in place, the one thing that could sway Steve, "Our son is the most important person to me, and that's why I get him new things. We don't want him thinking we don't love him, do we? With all the toys I give him, plus those little gadgets he has, I don't think there's any chance of that."

The super soldier's eyes flushed for a moment, filled with an almost unmatched love as he stared, granted he didn't understand Tony's logic. It was the way he said things, talked about their little boy that made him happy, negating all of the bad views he held. Maybe it wasn't so bad? If Peter had a little more money, perhaps a toy or two, that others didn't? He'd always wanted to give his kids the world...

"So, no one's seen him?"

"I have!" the fourth voice, belonging to God-like Thor, was touched by a note of joy. He held his own reasons for that, although something had certainly brightened his mood, "The spaceman is crafting his own planet, it seems! When I went to see him he had-"

"Can you run upstairs and get him?" Steve cut in quickly, after he saw the rage on Tony's face. He didn't like Peter doing such things, making great cities and generally being creative, when he could be doing some equations. Didn't he see the beauty of Cosine? The absolute majesty that came with modern physics, which controlled everything they saw before them? Their precious son needed to be more vigilant, but only in the ways of science, since it was obvious that was the path to take. It was the money maker!

"I've had enough of those stupid cities," the billionaire mumbled as Thor went off, his eyes directed at Steve's, "He's never going to make anything out of them, so why's he even bothering? There should be a rule against that or...I dunno; we should put up something."

"To do what, Tony? Stop him from having fun? He's only a little boy – there's nothing wrong with making a few toy towns, maybe a few houses. You've already told me how smart he is. He'll take the route he's most comfortable with and, no matter how weird it is to us, there's a good chance he'll know what he's doing. Just relax."

Of course, Stark couldn't relax. His father had told him these things before; don't be ridiculous, set your sights on what is achievable. He grew to accept these, so why couldn't Peter?

His son would learn one way or another.


	19. Expectations

Peter knew. He knew that his father, no matter how loving to his face, despised his pastimes. Every day when the alien was playing, innocently building cities he could rule over, Tony seemed to have something to say about it, even though they were made out of wooden blocks. When would he learn that his son loved it? Peter adored crafting these little worlds, where he was safe from the realities of life and protected from the media.

"You've got to stop being so silly, Pete," the neatly groomed billionaire said, his wisest voice donned for the occasion, "Nothing's going to come out of it, and you're definitely not making new buildings any time soon. Why don't you concentrate on being my boy genius, hm?" the child was forced to smile sweetly, although inside he just wanted to scream. He loved his father; every little detail about Tony made him happy, so why couldn't he accept this one thing? Was it really that difficult to love a flawed Peter? It was starting to seem so.

"Leave him alone," Steve had muttered from the corner, not daring to argue with his boyfriend. It would only end in tears if he did so, finish with one of them storming out of the Tower for a good few hours – that environment wasn't good for Peter, and the leader was determined to raise him well. Granted, recent events weren't a brilliant example...

"Daddy sad," it was their son's turn to talk, as the two men glared at each other from across the room, "Daddies mad Peter. Sorry Daddies. Bad; cities bad, Peter do maths." Tony smiled, more in triumph than anything else, whilst his son collected a piece of snow white paper and began scribbling some equations down. That was his boy! The one who was compliant, easy-going, didn't have a care in the world other than pleasing his fathers...

"See? There's nothing wrong with talking to him," the billionaire commented to Steve as they left, walking out of the room to give Peter some privacy. He strained his ears to hear the rest of their conversation, although he only caught a snippet, "...by the time he's twenty, I expect he'll have a good few degrees under his belt. Don't worry about it Steve; our son's not going to be a Starving Artist! I won't let him be."

When they had finally disappeared, Peter looked at his surroundings. He saw the hearty plate of breakfast in front of him, positively stuffed with all manners of meat and bread, whilst the more permanent fixtures remained in place. Fresh sunrays bounced off the toaster and into the child's eyes, causing him to shield as he continued to gaze. Was he a selfish person?

Tony acted like he was. Sometimes without realising it, the billionaire would indirectly call him stupid, such as when he built things that he deemed unnecessary. Usually there was nothing but praise although, lately, his father hadn't been so much praising as he had been hurtful. Didn't he realise how much Peter adored him? How the child hung onto every word he said, even when they weren't important? It was because they were always special to him, always useful in some way or another, and he didn't want to miss out on some applicable knowledge. Tony – to him, at least – was the font of all wisdom, whether or not he had it right all the time. Everyone was allowed a mistake.

Except for Peter, apparently.

"Hey little guy, what's up?" Bruce's voice was a cheerful disturbance, something the child could clutch in his bleakness. It was so welcome that Peter hardly felt a smile erupt, highlighting the soft details of his face.

"Uncle Bruce!"

"Are you ready for testing today? We've got all the equipment ready; we're going to see your brain chemistry today, aren't we?" he said whilst making himself another slice of toast, a rarity given his strict diet, "You know how long I've spent making a special helmet? Daddy wouldn't let me shave all your hair off."

An old joke, one that was designed to make Peter eat his dinner rather than anything serious. Tony had threatened to rid him of his dark locks weeks ago, when he refused to eat some green slob JARVIS had made, and wanted his 'Captain Daddy' to cook an alternative. After that event, coupled with the boy's complete disregard, everyone had made it into a running joke.

"Tests?"

"Don't you remember, Pete? We made a whole new programme to log your brainwaves," the scientist looked up from his culinary work, wondering how his alien friend could've forgotten, "You helped us make it. Daddy got you that special computer? The one that I almost dropped?"

Peter remembered it, although he wasn't excited. Something about experiments didn't sit right, as if he was wary of another difference, another point that separated him from the human race. Tony was determined to find out what created his powers; sometimes, when the child lay in his bed at night, unable to sleep for thinking, he wondered why his father was so obsessed. They were only telekinetic skills – many books had suggested they would have them, after a few thousand years of evolving. So why was it such a big issue that he had them? Was the billionaire intent on making him different?

"What's up, little guy? You seem a bit down today," Bruce moved to stand beside the boy, a few inches away so that he wouldn't be hit. Peter's abilities sometimes made comforting difficult, particularly when they didn't know what was wrong or what could make things worse.

"Daddy sad Peter," he explained...sort of explained, "Daddy make Peter frown. I eat big food and make sums. Not good, not good for Daddy." His voice was so heartbroken that even Bruce, with his usual strong resistance, felt a tear threaten. Why was Tony so blind sometimes?

"Aw, Pete, he doesn't think you're not good enough," Banner rubbed the child's head as he spoke, "He sees your potential, that's all. One day when you're in university, making all those equations balance out and discovering the secrets of the universe, he's going to tell you how proud he is. Maybe he'll have you CEO of his company? Worked for Pep!"

He chuckled at his own joke for a moment, before putting the finishing touches on his toast. The child watched in a sullen mood, one that would've scared passing mothers, and wondered if Bruce knew what he had just said.

Tony would never be happy until Peter was a scientist.


	20. Encourage

The test was, by far, one of the most advanced things they had ever done. A brand new computer programme ran on the systems, commanding devices only recently built, whilst in the middle sat Peter, fearful of his own creation. He had engineered this technological marvel – his skills were something to be envied, perhaps craved by several aspiring scientists, however he felt they were out of place. What child could make such sophisticated programmes? It seemed to be another thing that separated him.

"Alright Peter; just relax for me now," Bruce stood behind a piece of reinforced glass, which was the only safety procedure they went through. All of their little variables were for Peter's benefit, there so that the alien wouldn't get hurt but, when it came down to themselves, anything was allowed. Tony didn't care much for their own security; aside from a barrier, their beeping computers and a few suits in case of radiation, nothing was in place to keep them harm-free. Well...there was an emergency cabinet of scotch...

"Daddy?" the alien was placed on a pristine white mattress, one that had been specially cleaned for the occasion. His billionaire father forced several recommended maids to do it, although it was only a job for one, if they thought about it in depth. Then again, when did Tony ever think that hard?

"Don't worry, bucko," his voice was calm, collected, despite his nervousness, "I'm going to be right here for you. We'll be taking a few snapshots of your brain while the experiments running, okay? So don't panic if you see a flash – it's just the programme doing its job."

Hardly comforting, seeing as there was a massive camera directed straight at his face, which hummed with energy and shuddered with intent. If he weren't used to these strange gadgets, Peter might have started crying.

"Right...okay, Pete, it's time we revved up your powers," this was a thrilling moment in every test – the moment that their innocent alien, so gentle in nature and spirit, became a raging cyclone of energy, one that they could scarcely control. Sometimes it was a wonder the Tower didn't collapse, what with all the raw telekinetic energy that swelled inside.

Peter hadn't a clue what to do. He saw the camera he helped design, saw his father waiting patiently in a glass container, and yet there wasn't any further instruction. Maybe it was a test of his intellect? He wouldn't be surprised, as Tony was always one for hiding quick pop quizzes everywhere. Steve had pestered him about that.

"Daddy? Don't know," muttered the alien whilst he gazed, "Help me. Up?" like a frightened child he raised his arms, expecting that he would be comforted as he normally was, although he found himself left very much alone. Stark watched his son stare at him, as if he'd just committed the ultimate betrayal.

There was a flash of green. Peter turned his head to see, look who had entered the laboratory, and a smile transcended on his face. Empty was the corner of the room, although not to his youthful gaze. It was that familiar shoulder-haired man, the same who taught him of his importance, listened to his qualms and queries, whilst all the while remaining as supportive as he could be. He seemed to be much weaker than he had before; when the alien stared at him, he was able to gaze straight through his body and see the wall behind. It were as if he was a ghost, floating on an invisible cloud, rather than a man of flesh and bone.

"Uncle Loki?" he whispered, so quietly that no one could hear, "Uncle Loki?"

"Shh, nephew – let them not hear you, for then we shall be in a great deal of trouble," the demoted God's voice was soft, gentle, and his eyes sparkled with a motherly affection. Whilst the child continued to stare, he fell to one knee, a hand outstretched so he could 'comfort' his star-crossed friend.

"But-"

"Osmostinos must be released. They will never be satisfied if you sit there, young one. Quickly now; release our greatest weapon, so that I can see my greatest friend. You are very safe now that I am here."

The encouragement was all he needed. Peter's heart rate suddenly spiked on the scanner, his eyes glowing that familiar blood red, whilst around him the world seemed to freeze over. A groan escaped Tony's lips as he watched; this was his son! His little boy who he'd sworn to protect, doing something so dangerous that it could've been child abuse. Even Bruce was having a hard time watching it, since it seemed like their alien was putting strain on himself. It was a horrifying sight.

"Err, Pete; don't overdo it now. We don't want you fainting, do we?"

There was no response. His little body started to shake uncontrollably as Peter, losing his conscious to that of his power, began to rise on the mattress. Objects around him went against gravity, and Tony's heart started to beat faster.

"Pete! Come on now, stop. We've got some images of your brain; they're just about to come up. You don't need to carry on."

Still, no answer from his sweet little boy. The billionaire dived towards the glass-screen door, ready to battle his way through the floating material outside, although he found himself stopped by Bruce. He glared into the man's eyes with fatherly intent.

"That's my boy!"

"That's my nephew! But if you go out there, who knows what could happen!" spat the scientist, "We have to let it happen!"

Outside of this see-through world, Peter was humming with unimaginable force. The child's eyes turned, his head directed at the corner of the room, where Loki was still standing happily, a proud smile lit on his features. Each pale detail he possessed was complimented by this grin, like he hadn't done so in a long time. It made Peter feel special.

It made him feel powerful.

"PETER!" Tony screamed as he lunged at the glass. He damned himself silently that it was unbreakable, that he had been so foolish not to look ahead. Why couldn't he get things right? The heir to Stark Industries was on the line here, his blood so precious that it could have been sold, and yet now he sat there in danger. He was in danger of himself. They had seen this kind of destruction before.

It was then that everything bent. Reality twisted itself to Peter's design, objects folding like origami works as the child, now drunk on power and fuelled by joy, started to rise into the air. His hands stretched out to the sides when he did so, perhaps in a more Jesus-like pose than anything else. What was happening?

"Yes, Osmostinos!" Loki shouted above the din of energy, "Yes! Awaken; rise up above these mortal fools!" was this the fruition of his plan? This simple, raw show of energy, one that the world had seen before? It seemed that nothing would be worth this, not even the possibility of such strength, which Peter possessed deep within his bones.

"PETER! STOP!" everything silenced. The child, exhausted of his power, collapsed back onto the mattress, softly snoring as if nothing had happened. Folded objects fell about him but Tony didn't care – what were the extra expenses, after all, when it was his son that remained irreplaceable? Like a man possessed he smashed open the glass, his mind directed on anything his son had injured. Or perhaps, anything he hadn't injured.

"Is he alright?" Bruce was worried of course, since it was so rare Peter fainted, "Is he breathing? I'll run to Steve and get an ambulance. Do we need one?"

"Call one up anyway. Last time he went into a power-induced coma, and he didn't wake up for days. What are you waiting for? Go!"

Loki smiled as the men before him fretted, tending to a being they barely understood and yet cared for so greatly. If only they knew his plans, his dreams for that little boy, who snored so softly in his father's arms.

_They will never raise him properly, _the demoted prince thought, his thin lips stretched into a smile, _I am surprised he has not killed them all. Ah, no matter – soon, my Osmostinos, I know you shall be ready. You shall be ready for the greatest power of all, that which can never be achieved on this God-forsaken rock. My nephew, my prince; the Heir to Asguard._


	21. As my

Peter lay in a pristine hospital bed, his eyes closed to the world outside. The Avengers were crowded around him like a gaggle of geese, mothering the unconscious child in their own ways, although no one was more fretful than Tony. He had been researching all day, in an attempt to understand his son's collapse and find a way to reverse it. How could he relax when Peter was like this?

"The doctors said he'll be fine," nagged Steve from his seat, a chair placed against the cream coloured walls, "You've got to stop worrying so much. All of us; it's happened before, and it'll happen again. Peter will wake up as and when he's ready to." Even the super soldier wasn't convinced, since he felt the niggling thoughts of doubt in his mind. How could he remain so calm? When there lay his special son, the one who had travelled galaxies just to be in their lives? It was a difficult skill to master yet, thankfully, not impossible.

Clint was quick to defend their worries, "Yeah, but doctors have got it wrong before. Remember that story, about the kid with meningitis?"

Natasha kicked him in the leg once she saw Tony's face, which was creased by fear. Tinges of green decorated his youthful features as the billionaire became unsteady, as if inflicted by an illness they hadn't expected. Peter suddenly became lost in their minds.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he lied, although not as convincingly as he'd hoped, "Never better. Just want Pete to wake up, so we can head back home." It wasn't unusual for him to do this – Tony always felt that, no matter how uncontrollable the circumstances, the tests should've been harmless, and anything that went wrong made him furious. Guilt was a tricky emotion.

"No you're not. What's up?" Steve's voice was small and his question foolish, since they all knew what was wrong. It wasn't like they'd kept Peter's collapse a secret, after all.

"Oh, nothing; I'm always peachy after my son's fallen into a coma."

"It's not a coma, Tony. He's just unconscious. Judging by our situation, I don't think that's a reason to worry," a hand gripped the billionaire's shoulder; however he barely felt it, "Let's leave him to rest now, yeah?"

He was about to argue but stopped when he turned, and saw Steve's soft eyes glinting at him. They were a vibrant shade of blue, dulled only by an ache of fatherhood, which seemed to make him that little bit more attractive. Who could deny his beauty? It was so often put up in the tabloids, screaming his gorgeousness in ways only Tony knew; they saw the skin deep attraction, but never the depth that existed in him.

"Okay...okay, I guess he needs to sleep. Come on guys, we'll leave him alone for a while. Where's the doctor?" the question faded from the room as they left, hand in hand and with a collection of heroes behind them. It looked more like a strange supervision course, rather than a caring family.

The hospital room, complete with blinking machines and a few high-tech gadgets, became suddenly cold. Peter's eyes twitched open from underneath his thick duvet, slowly opening his dark green gaze to the horror around him. Cream coloured walls, a large flat screen television in the corner, a few warm-seated chairs – this was all so unfamiliar, and yet recognisable as he stared. Who was here for him?

"Daddy? Captain Daddy? Scared; I scared!" his childish voice was weak, like someone had stolen it away whilst he slept, "Daddy? DADDY?!" there was silence to answer his cries, something that he wasn't used to in his normally hectic household. Tony had always been present to comfort him, especially when he was upset, although now it seemed like there would be no loving hugs. Nothing would make him smile now.

Well, except...

"Osmostinos, it seems I overestimated your control," the words were soft to his ears, causing him to turn and gaze at the green-clad man. He stood there at the side of his bed, no more caring than he suspected Tony would be, and wore the warmest smile Peter had ever seen. It seemed almost malicious.

"Uncle Loki; where Daddy? Not here, sad. Daddy mad?"

"I suspect he would be disappointed, what with your collapse. He is making arrangements, perhaps, so that you learn to master your skill," replied the maniac as he grinned, tucking the star-crossed nephew in so he was more comfortable, "You understand what humans are like."

Peter could only nod as Loki continued his tucking. This was the most care he'd be shown that day, and he was intent on remembering how it felt, even though his father would do the same later on.

"I am bad?"

"No; you are not bad, my nephew. You're going to be a strong warrior one day, but not for this world," whispered the prince whilst he stroked the child's face, "Warriors in Asguard are given high honours, you know? Their names are written throughout the ages, honoured by all the newcomers, and when they grow too old to fight, they are forever adored by our citizens. Does that not sound wonderful?"

"Uncle Fur...Thor says sad."

"He was never graceful in this way, as he intended to use his fists more than his brain. The warriors that I talk of are not blindly fighting, but instead assault when there are no other options, after exhausting everything they can do."

Peter shook his head this time, with a gnawing feeling at his gut. What was Loki talking about? Why did he speak of such great warriors, when there was no chance of him meeting them?

"Soon, my precious Osmostinos – you shall join the ranks of those who have passed, in a sense that you shall rule their successors. Our names will be in the books as the greatest rulers, the worthy Kings, and you shall be there beside me..."

A wicked grin transcended to his face, whilst he gazed at the innocent boy in front of him. He seemed so weak there, just there on that bed, which had been paid and prepared for by Tony. Who could say the billionaire cared so much, when he wasn't even here to look after his alien?

"...As my son."


	22. Scare Tactics

The next day, it seemed Tony's overreaction was not over. Peter had been instructed to stay overnight by some trusted doctors – the people that knew of the child's powers – and his father, although keen to get him out, wanted some extra psychological testing. That was why he was being visited by a therapist, who brought with him many toys and gadgets, all funded by Tony.

As they settled down in a spacious room, the employed man took a quick glance around. He was by no means poor but, even in his wildest dreams he could never afford something this grand, this large to care for him. There were patterns made from beautiful gold paint, decorated all over the walls like some strange ritual, whilst in the middle sat an expensive glass table, complete with chairs and very lavish looking pens. He noted that Peter seemed slightly distressed in this place; it was probably wrong to do this, since the boy was always nervous around new people. How couldn't he be after what Tony had said?

"Hello, Mr. Stark-Rogers," a smile was passed but not returned, "I've heard you had a little accident. What happened?" there was no response from Peter; instead he chose to stare, his eyes directed straight at the man's hands and not his face. It set him a little on edge.

Drawing his hands back in, he decided to try a different approach, "My name is Fredrick Corvine. Your daddy asked me to talk to you, see how you're feeling – do you like living in Stark Tower? Is it fun there? I suspect you get a lot of toys!" the child suddenly glared up, to set his fiery sight straight at Fredrick's eyes. Something evil seemed to dance within those dark green depths, as if the question had sparked his inner demon, though in reality he just wanted to warn this man off.

"Love Daddy. Good, good Daddy. You bad, you want Daddy hurt. Questions hurt," his voice was so protective that the therapist didn't want to continue, despite it being his job. For a moment he wondered how someone like Anthony Stark, someone who had been born rich and intelligent, could also be so lucky. He had a team that loved and cared for him, a Tower unlike any they had seen, a metal suit that only solidified his use, and now a son who wanted to defend him. There were stories of Peter's devotion, although he'd always thought they were exaggerated.

"I know you love your daddy, very much so. He's given me a game for you; he said it's one of your favourites," the child watched as this man leaned over, searching in a leather briefcase. It was embroidered with grey string, and he remembered Tony brought similar ones back to the Tower, often filled with research papers and notes. Sometimes, they were even his.

Hidden within this container was a board, one that Peter knew all too well. He had played on it with his father and uncle – chess, a game of strategy, which was never far from the Tower. A smile danced on his youthful features whilst he gazed.

"Fun!"

"I'm glad you think so, since we're going to be playing it," Fredrick began setting up the pieces, granted that Peter had to help. The child was fearful about playing with this man, as it seemed so evident he wasn't good at this game. It might've been his fumbling with the pieces, or perhaps the way he seemed to gaze at them, but it didn't invoke the best first impressions.

And so, it began. Peter was the first to move, a rookie mistake made by many, and the therapist watched as he confidently pushed forward a pawn. The child's eyes glanced up at him.

"Move?" the word was more a challenge than a prompt. Fredrick stared at him before making his own assault, which was notably less confident than Peter's had been.

During the game, he started speaking again, "So, why are you in here? Did something happen to you?"

Peter moved another pawn, "Test."

"Test? Have you been tested for something then? I've heard that you were a little bit under the weather; did your daddy want to make sure you're alright?"

Fredrick's black knight cornered the child's bishop. His eyes raised in a premature triumph, albeit Peter was expecting this reaction.

"Collapsed. Flew in head. Collapsed after – Daddy scared. Uncle Loki scared too."

A swift movement gave the child his advantage. Beads of sweat almost formed on the therapist's head, as if this game was more important than his life, and he glanced up when Peter chuckled.

"Uncle Loki?"

"Teach about me. Funny lessons. Peter deserve better; Loki says, but I not sure. Daddy love Peter. I happy."

Suddenly, Fredrick moved his piece forward. He thought that would be the game, that he had won over the little boy, despite this being his first go. Another gaze was shot at Peter's direction whilst he chuckled, like he'd just proven something by that bleak gesture.

"Why does Loki think you deserve better, then?" he asked as the child looked intently at the board, so sure of himself, "You've got a lovely little family, haven't you? Do you want to change the world one day, like your daddies have? Is that why you deserve better?"

It was at that moment Peter stopped. He looked up at this man, the one who had been asking so many questions, and wondered if the next move he made would be the decider. It certainly wouldn't be appropriate...

"This," the chess piece – Peter's bishop – moved forward of its own will, and the child's eyes had turned a deep blood red. Fredrick watched as fear struck his very core, wondering why his hair was streaked with golden flecks, but he realised that it was the least of his problems. By then, it was too late.

"Checkmate." Peter had not only won, he'd frightened his own therapist. The man jumped up, terrified for his own life, before turning and rushing out of the room, like a schoolchild witnessing his first car crash. It made the child feel different. Light tears started to build up in his eyes, granted he didn't need to fear so much.

"Humans are such sore losers," the voice was a soft chuckle, nothing that would be heard by others, "You are better than they are, Osmostinos. Tony can never know how to control you...but I can."

If only he knew Loki's true intentions.


	23. Bickering

"I just don't get it," Steve said as he cleared the dining table, "How can Pete spook someone so much? I thought that therapist was supposed to be good, Tony – you promised me that he wasn't gonna make things worse."

The billionaire looked up from his coffee, which had been made on an impulse during the meal. He didn't normally drink any caffeinated at night, not when he wasn't working, although recent events allowed for a little leeway. It took a few moments for him to reply.

"We'll get a different one. My guess is Freddy wasn't up to scratch, and I made a mistake hiring him. I'll contact someone tomorrow about it, don't worry," he was so certain that therapy would help, that his son was suffering from something psychological, granted this wasn't the most supportive evidence, and definitely wouldn't make Steve believe him.

"I don't want a different therapist. You need to start realising we can't slap a bandage on everything; sometimes, we've got to take things into our own hands."

The leader was, by nature, a traditional father-figure. He didn't like all these excuses, the different reasons why Peter was acting out, since he saw Tony's methods were more lenient than they should be. Who would allow something like this? Hear about their son scaring someone half to death, and still insist that it wasn't his fault? They needed to sort out their parenting techniques, or else they could ultimately fail their little alien. Nobody wanted that.

"What do you want me to do, then? Ground him for life, stick him in a little box? No?" sarcasm laced Tony's voice as he set down his mug, suddenly disinterested in his drink, "How about I send him to boarding school? Sure – he'll be away for months on end and we'll never see him, but at least we'll know he's getting some manners, eh?!"

Smouldering blue eyes rose to meet Tony, a sign that his boyfriend wasn't appreciative of his tone, "Don't make out like I'm the bad guy here. It's not really a bad thing that _one _of us is responsible, is it? I mean, if I left it to you, Peter wouldn't even have clean clothes in the morning!"

The room fell silent. Tony, completely stunned by what he had just heard, could only stare at his lover, who clapped a hand tightly around his mouth. That smouldering rage in his eyes had died down now, instead replaced by hints of sorrow as he stared at the tycoon. What had he'd just said?

"Well, I never thought you'd come out with that," the words came out as a low, menacing growl, "Nice to know that my boyfriend thinks I'm a useless father, when it's me who got Pete here in the first place! Oh, but I forgot! I'm not Mister Traditional, who's _instantly _an amazing father because he comes from the '30's, and obviously doesn't have to learn anything new!"

This was the beginning of an argument, one that could rattle the Tower down and wake up the dead, although only a single person was listening. That person sat on the stairs in fluffy blue pyjamas, with his eyes directed at the harsh light of the kitchen. If someone had noticed his tears, they would've tried hard to make him feel better.

But no one was around.

"Daddy mad..." Peter whispered to himself through a cascade of tears, which dripped down cherry-red cheeks and fell onto the floor, "Daddies fight. I fault...Peter stupid." He was too young to understand the concept, the idea that his fathers argued for his welfare, and it probably wouldn't have helped if it was explained. He already thought this whole thing was his fault, without knowing the fundamentals.

"Oh, really?! Well if you hate it that much, why did you say it was endearing?!" Tony's voice only seemed to stab Peter's ears, even though his tears couldn't worsen. The boy stared at flickering shadows, images of a scene played out on the ground, whilst trying his best to calm himself down. A two year old shouldn't have been listening to this – all those rules, ideas and 'welfare' options that they were intent on suddenly went out of the window, replaced by this dysfunctional heap.

"I can't believe you'd sink that low!"

"Me?! How about you?! Yeah; you can't be wrong, can you?! Big strong Captain America, completely perfect!"

"At least I'm not on the news every morning, in trouble for God knows what!"

Peter listened to these revelations, yet all he wanted to do was run away. He had normally been told that Tony was amazing, how much he should respect his father for all the good he did, although now it seemed they were all lies. After all, if Steve was saying these things, they must have been true. The leader was never dishonest...

"Maybe I should've gone for that waitress instead! Then I'd know where my relationship was going!"

"Yeah well, maybe you should have! I'm just a billionaire tycoon, with his own business and Tower, that a whole superhero team live in! Not to mention my suit and my-"

"That doesn't make you a good boyfriend, Tony! And it definitely doesn't make you a good father!"

What was he saying? Stark was a terrific father, who was always interested in his son's antics! He was always there for him, ready to play, and satisfied Peter's lust for advanced physics. Steve may have been a responsible father figure but, when it came to the child's interests, he more or less wanted to convert them, rather than support his academic sides.

"Osmostinos!" Loki's voice pulled him from the darkness, like an angel floating on a beam of light, "Follow me, back to your room."

"Can't see," muttered the boy; however he started to scramble up the stairs, "Can't see Uncle Loki! Where you? Scared!"

"Do not fear nephew, for I do not have the strength to manifest myself. They are treating me harshly in my world, and I fear that my brother shall be even more cruel when he arrives. We may not be able to speak for a brief time."

Despite its faceless existence, Peter felt slightly relieved at his voice. He scrambled up the stairs with a mouthful of questions, granted that Loki didn't answer them. It was a while until he finally said something, which was only after his young nephew had reached his bedroom, where he could happily sit and listen.

"Relax now, my Osmostinos," he felt the softest touch against his face, a warm bout of breath brushing his ear, "There is no need to fret, especially not on such mortal bickering. Your fathers – the men who have imprisoned you – will know that you are too precious, and I shall take you from this cage. Sleep now."

"Uncle Loki! Scared! Daddies help?"

"They care little for you; why else would they argue, when your innocent young ears can hear? Do not be fearful...we shall be together, soon."


	24. Promises

Peter spent the next few days alone. Well, his fathers thought he was alone, locked up in his room without a single supervisor, although in truth he had an unknown tutor with him. Loki was putting his plans in action as he informed the child, told him of the things he would become and how to master his skills, but his nephew was more sceptical than he'd hoped. Sometimes Peter wouldn't believe and, on a few terrifying occasions, he would revert back to his family's fine examples. They were the Avengers; if he needed a better code to live by, he would have to leave earth for it.

"Pete didn't come down for his lesson today," Bruce mentioned over lunch, which was strangely quiet without Tony, "I went up to see what he was up to but...I don't know, he seemed to be out of it. Has he been eating properly?"

"I've taken food up to him – don't know if he's eating it. He's the carbon copy of his father though so, with that in mind, he's probably eating that and anything else he can get his hands on," Steve's face slowly transcended into a smile, despite his recent argument with the billionaire. Tony was his boyfriend and a fine father, no matter the quarrels with his modern style, granted that there was always room for improvement.

"Well then...that's alright, I guess," the scientist wasn't impressed, considering that Peter was supposed to be their utmost priority. If they left him to his own devices, there would surely be sour feelings, ones that crippled their already precarious relationship and destroyed their weak bridges. Bruce had noticed the alien's strange behaviour...

Up in the laboratory, Anthony Stark was hard at work. Several tools lay scattered about him, small metal objects that he rarely put down, and his eyes were directed at the complicated circuits. They were all set to perfection; after all, Peter deserved the best, which wasn't ever unobtainable in his father's world. This would be one of the finest gifts a child could receive! Tony would make sure of it, whether it took him six days or six years.

"That goes there," his voice muttered in a hushed tone, as if there were a million cameras watching him, "Come on...work, work, work!" the chanting seemed to take effect since, by the combined power of physics and genius, the rockets started springing to life, rattling through the empty corridor outside. Tony watched in a mixture of pride and triumph whilst it did so, like he'd achieved a great victory when it made such a racket.

"Daddy!" Peter's head rose from his lesson, an immediate reaction to the sudden noise and one that irritated Loki, "Daddy work! See Daddy, miss Daddy!" it had been a long time since they spoke, and the separation was taking its toll. Young Stark-Rogers, heir to the family business, wielder of unimaginable power, wanted to go back to his father, hide within his arc-reactor chest and sleep peacefully under his arm. Any bitter thoughts were gone now, instead replaced by his wish for closeness, that Loki tried in vain to condemn.

The demoted prince glared before muttering, "No, Osmostinos! You must remember the third lesson – you, as a God, do not need any support, not in the form of these mortals."

"Miss Daddy! Daddy!" the boy's cries were heard down the hall, where Tony was still hard at work. His dark-crested head rose to his son's cries and, for a moment, he pondered on what caused them, although the thoughts instantly dispersed as he gathered himself up. Too long had passed since he saw Peter and now, he would have a reason to.

"Coming!" his voice rumbled down the corridor, echoing so loudly that even Thor could hear it, way up in his 'games' room. "Wait there a second, Pete!"

Loki's irritation peaked. How dare the young Osmostinos, the child he so willingly schooled in his own potential, want the company of his father? It wasn't like Tony taught him anything important – the billionaire was content to educate him, but only in the terms of physics and technology, which seemed so primitive compared to Loki's world. Moulded with magical intent, there was nothing so basic in Asguard, not even their kitchen utensils. Peter deserved more than this world could provide.

"I shall have you, Osmostinos," whispered the child's uncle before, in a strange occurrence of will, he vanished from the room, and left Peter on his own. For a few minutes he seemed lost; however soon Tony arrived, reminding the alien where he belonged as his father picked him up.

"What's up, little guy? Something scared you?" the billionaire inquired whilst he gazed about, eyes ordered to find the source of his cries, "There's nothing here. Were you just lonely? You haven't been downstairs for a while – why don't we go now? We're not going to be here tonight."

That night was, of course, the evening they were all meeting Joanna, Bruce's elusive lady friend. She and they were to see each other in a selected restaurant, one that Tony had booked for the occasion and had all the unnecessary protocols about it. It was a nervous event for not only the scientist; Steve and his boyfriend were expected to leave Peter alone, in the company of babysitters, all of which they hadn't much faith in. Nerves would be high that night.

"Daddy go?"

"Only for tonight, Pete. You're going to be staying here with a few babysitters, so don't worry. They're hired specially off an agency, and we're only going to be gone for a couple of hours. You're safe, I promise."

Tony's promises were normally taken with a pinch of salt, as many adults for him untrustworthy despite his reputation. But for Peter, sitting there in the arms of his father, those promises were more holy than God, and they were always fulfilled to the letter. What he didn't know was that they were waiting, casing up Joanna before they brought her to the Tower, just in case she wasn't good enough to meet Peter or would be harmful to his environment. Bruce understood this – it was the priority, after all, that the child came first in their home, whilst outside the world did.

"Baby...sitters?"

"There we go, you can say it!" pride filled the tycoon's voice when he spoke, "Don't worry, kiddo. You're going to be safe. Daddy promises."

Peter's tiny hand was clutched by Tony's larger, holding it gently against his cold metal reactor. The child gazed into his eyes, a hint of joy in his own green depths, whilst around them the world seemed to darken. Nothing mattered, not the world outside nor the people around them, as it all melted in irrelevance when they stared. This was the father-son bond Tony never had.

This was what Loki would destroy, no matter what cost.


	25. Prepare

That night, the team began intense preparations. Bruce donned his finest suit for the occasion, one that had been specially primped and pressed, whilst the others gathered their own glorious outfits, every single frock more expensive than the other. The young alien stared in awe as they prepped, his eyes wider than dinner plates and his giggles echoing through the room.

"Daddy like tie," Peter muttered when he watched Tony, who was sizing up silk or cotton neckwear, "Wear lots. I help?" they were inseparable after that incident earlier, which caused much dismay to Loki whenever he saw their happy smiles. When would his nephew see?! The billionaire was holding him back, his true potential hidden by Starks' money – if that insolent man continued, he would be forced to take more drastic measurements.

"Sure, kiddo; which one do you like more? The black silk or the red cotton?" asked the man, causing his son to analyse each option carefully. It was an extremely important decision after all, since, if he chose the wrong tie, his beloved billionaire's suit could be compromised, and he would lose respect from other diners. How disastrous!

"Black! Look," with his tiny hands Peter clasped the tie, before he pressed it gently against Tony's shirt. The crisp white material moulded to its silk body and, like a soft invader, it integrated perfectly to his outfit. Society would adore his new accessory, almost as much as the alien adored his father.

Steve wandered in to see his young son, standing up on that double bed with a happy smile on his face. For a moment he was contented to stare, a flower of joy blooming in his heart whilst he did so, as it had been so long since he wore such a grin. Those youthful features that the leader loved, each one freckled with a childish innocence, were finally set in an easy expression, which was a rarity in their household. It took a long time for him to speak.

"Are you helping Daddy choose his tie?" his voice was contorted to a coo, one that only Peter heard from the soldier's lips, "You've picked a really good one! Doesn't he look nice with it?" the indirect compliment was picked up by Tony, who flashed a toothy smile towards him and gave a discreet wink. Peter was picked up by the billionaire as they moved forward, moving as if they were a penguin family rather than well-developed humans. They shuffled along the cream-coloured corridors, a huddle of white and black suits with a newly hatched fledgling.

The team were downstairs by the time they arrived, and Bruce was already panicking, "Do you think she'll like this outfit? Maybe I should change it, you know – something kind of rugged, or more formal? Will she be impressed by a white suit? I should change!"

Tony could hardly contain his laughter as he called, "Don't worry Brucey! I'm sure she'll be more interested in your face than the clothes you're wearing; why don't you trade in for a better one?" his boyfriend gave him a light slap on the head, although an amused smile danced on his features. The billionaire's comments were usually funny, sometimes even hilarious, but they could never laugh since it would only encourage him, and cause immediate effects in the Tower. A massacre was likely to follow...

"Ah, Tony – I see you're still a smug bas-" Peter's head rose, catching the scientist's eye and forcing a quick subject change, "Have you called the babysitters yet? I'm sure our little man wants to meet his carers for the night, aren't you?"

"I've already called them. The girls are going to be here soon enough; we're not going to be late. Are you going to run down what we can't talk about tonight or...?"

"Just don't mention her freckles. She really hates them. Anything else is fine," he seemed to be more nervous than usual, as if this was the only love opportunity he had, despite there being many requests for his company. Bruce had been called upon by royalty, baronesses and the rich, yet still he remained single, like no one would ever satisfy his wants. Was Joanna the queen he searched for? Did she outshine all other suitors with her incredible intelligence, or was he more interested in the plain? Whatever her attraction, they would discover it soon, over an expensive dinner and awkward conversation.

The discussions continued for a while, even though they were filled with heartfelt goodbyes. Peter loved all the attention; however, as he had mentioned before, he didn't enjoy their leaving, and was struggling to cope with the idea of a new carer. The alien was irrationally fearful that, despite their constant affection to him, his fathers were fleeing his life. This dinner was a cover-up, perhaps, to their actual plan, which was to get on a plan and fly as far away as possible, without their young son, abandoning their responsibilities. Loki had warned him of such things...

"That must be the girls!" Tony exclaimed as the doorbell rang, unimpressed with their two-minute lateness, "I hope they've got the schedule, at least. It's been emailed, faxed, posted and text to the agency!"

"How can someone call you over-protective, Tony?"

He brushed off the sarcasm quite easily, with a smile flashed towards his golden-haired boyfriend, "I have no idea. How can someone call you lax, Steve?" the super soldier decided to brush it off, as another argument wouldn't be smart considering. Stark may not have had any foresight but, thankfully enough for him, Rogers did, and that avoided many situations between them. Particularly when Peter was involved.

Four beautifully dressed young girls came in, their hair brushed, straightened and their faces prepped with makeup. Peter watched as a brunette gazed at her current employers, a team so famous it was implausible, whilst the others were content to gaze about, their matching black crests like a sea of bugs to the boy. He imagined the locks wrapped around a struggling beetle, one that possessed jaws like a vice, and wondered who would win in a battle against nature...

"I was hoping for someone...older, girls," Steve admitted, although his voice seemed to make them giggle, "Are you sure you can handle this job? Pete's quite a handful, and he's never had someone different look after him?"

"The agency said you would all be eighteen. You don't look much older than fourteen." Tony's confrontational tone was unnecessary – if the girls weren't so excited, they might've been offended by it. The leading brunette finally spoke up after a moment's laughter.

"We're all sixteen, Mr. Stark!" her voice was touched by an enthusiasm, "The agency didn't have any spare eighteen year olds, so they sent us instead. You can check; we're so good that we've been hired, when other people aren't 'til they're at least, like...twenty!" the billionaire wasn't convinced and he was tempted to remain, so that they didn't threaten their son's delicate environment. It was Steve who made the decision.

"That's fine girls; just make sure you follow the schedule," a glance was passed towards the others before he added, "Have you got the instructions I sent?"

Tony wanted to say something, although he found himself too amused to do so, "Yep, they're all here! Peter's got to be in bed by nine, and if he's up later than that he'll be too tired for class tomorrow! We've even got the special cake you said!"

Peter's head immediately rose, from the soft shoulder of his father's suit. He'd heard the word, 'cake' many times, occasionally after a large meal, but it seemed he would be treated again that night. Maybe a babysitter wasn't so bad?

"Good, thanks. Alright then – come on Bruce, guys; we better get moving, or we're going to be late."

They slowly filed out of the Tower, a thousand kisses pressed to Peter's forehead and a million goodbyes called. Natasha was sporting a brand new wig as she peppered his cheeks with kisses, her long acrylic nails stroking his soft skin, her smile warming his heart.

"Bye! Bye!" he struggled in the brunette's arms, fighting back her prison-like arms, "Home soon! Home soon! Daddy...Daddy!"

"Yes, Pete! We'll be home soon!"

The door suddenly closed. He listened to the din of voices outside, his ears strained as they began to fade, and a sense of abandonment in his heart. Only Tony comforted him in times like this, when he felt so lonely despite his surroundings. These girls were hardly a substitute; more of an acceptable tolerance.

"Right, they're gone."

Peter was put on the floor whilst the girls moved, their eyes searching every inch of his home, new to the world of wealth and luxury. Their teenager nattering grated on his nerves but, for all he was worth, he couldn't say anything.

"Did you_ see_ Thor?!"

"Don't even get me started! He looks so hot in a suit!"

"What about Tony Stark?!"

"He's hot too! Maybe we can take their cologne tonight or something? You wouldn't mind that, would you?" her question was directed to Peter, who wanted nothing more than for them to shut up. He didn't like their invading wishes. He didn't like their personalities.

The brunette noticed his glares, although she only took it as a challenge, "Don't worry, little guy! We're not going to ignore you! Just give us a minute and we'll make you that special cake! Now...I know the whisk is here somewhere..."

Joy.


	26. Defending You

The Tower's halls were alive with laughter. Peter lay in his bed, his ears covered by two plump pillows, though it seemed nothing would block out teenager's cackling. They were supposed to be looking after him – instead, they sat in the bedrooms together, discussing matters of no relevance and muttering about men, whilst he attempted to get some rest. Did these people actually care? They seemed to be more interested in themselves, in their daily grinds at school or, perhaps at their homes; he didn't like their interference. Why couldn't he have gone with Tony?

His father was quite clear about that. It took a good few hours of explanation over his dinner, in an effort to make him understand their position. They couldn't have him in a restaurant when meeting the new lady, lest they scare her and send Bruce into a rage. Only, their way of explaining it made Peter feel useless, as if he was the reason the beloved scientist had no partner, and that his existence was disturbing to their routines.

"Oh my God!" the scream penetrated his soft defences, "I've just found _Tony Starks' _diary! Come on you guys; let's read it!" she sounded like a typical busybody, the sort that Peter's father had warned about, although he was more interested in what she was doing. How dare she read something so personal? Something that belonged to Stark, a cherished idol and icon to many, in addition to the boy's beloved tycoon? It was a mere few seconds before Peter rushed down the wide-spaced hallways, a direct bee-line aimed towards his father's room.

"No, no, no! Daddy's!" he shouted with a voice like thunder, "Not girls! Daddy's! Fight you! Fight you!" Peter was prepared to defend his home in any way he could, despite his unsupervised actions and sanctioned power usage. This was his Tower! He'd protect it for his family!

"Peter?!" the door of Tony's room burst open, revealing the child he cared for so much, dressed in lovingly picked fluffy blue pyjamas. The boy's eyes were red with fury by this point, like he was being driven by a force of complete rage and torment, no matter how docile he had been before. His hands stretched out towards the four girls, who were sat upon the King-sized bed, the book balanced precariously on their laps.

"Daddy's! Not yours!" what a tremendous voice! It rumbled with a power so great, so ancient that it rattled the bedroom's windows, shaking the Tower to its very foundations as he screamed. For the babysitters it was madness, chaos, whilst for Peter it was a simple defence mechanism. They couldn't understand his anger.

"We weren't going to read it, little guy!" the brunette said, though by this time he knew her name to be Clarabelle, "Just having a look, see? Why are you out of bed? Your daddies are gonna get really mad if you don't go back...right, now!" she spoke in a certain authority, her stance justified in the eyes of her peers, but Peter knew better. He knew that these girls, whether or not they had wanted to, would have read his father's journal, and used it against him at some point.

"Lie! Lie! Lie!" a mantra started up for the child as he rose into the air, his frail body given to the will of his powers, "Lie! Lie! Lie! You lie – nasty lie, bad lie! Stupid, mean!"

By this point, the girls were rightly terrified. They didn't see that sweet little boy anymore, that little docile child playing with his toys, but instead this horror, which had been written in only the most maniacal of storybooks. Bits of Tony's room charged at the child whilst he continued to grow, sparking tongues of energy dancing around him, his power becoming incomprehensible.

What had they taken? Was there a drug in the seemingly innocent Pimm's pitcher downstairs? Perhaps next time, they wouldn't drink things that weren't made for them.

It was a while until Clarabelle shouted, "Okay! We won't lie to you again, Peter! Just...just stop! Please!"

But the alien was too far gone. The blood pulsating through his head was deafening, and the roar of his inner demon was too great to ignore. Tony had often tried to calm this creature; he had a misguided belief that, given the proper care and treatment, they could learn to adapt Osmostinos to Earth's better usage, maybe even generate an alternative energy source from it. The billionaire wouldn't hurt his precious son but it was a thought, and kept him occupied during dark lonely nights.

"Osmostinos!" the child's eyes flicked forwards, although the fringe of red made it difficult to see, "Calm, my nephew, for there is no reason to fret. These women rightly fear you – you, dear one, not another – but now is the time to rest. You are too powerful for their tiny mortal minds."

Loki had observed the whole madness, with an almost sickening smile stretched along his features. He knew that this boy was dangerous, that his power would be unmatched in battle, granted he'd little idea how to control it. Peter would have some clue, surely?

His words were filled with wisdom, however. The child started to lower back to the ground, eyes changing from red to green, and felt the familiar bite of his exhaustion creeping. He had defended Tony's privacy and the safety of the Tower; now, it was the time to sleep, so that he'd be able to do it again.

The girls were in an uproar by now, mobiles in hand to call his fathers, whilst screaming bloody murder around this home. They didn't have a clue what they had just witness or what it meant but, by that time, it didn't matter. They wanted to get out of this madhouse as quickly as possible, without losing their meagre-paying jobs.

It was Loki's soft hand that Peter felt against his cheeks, and his gentler voice that sent him to sleep, "Well done, my Osmostinos. A more fitting son would be an insult..."


	27. You hurt me

Tony was livid by the time they got home. After receiving a call from the very distressed Clarabelle, listening to her description of Peter's outburst, the billionaire had decided enough was enough. His son was going to learn a lesson – that little boy, no matter how cute and cuddly, needed to learn that he was not above the rules. There was only one way to do that.

"At least calm down!" Steve had reasoned as they hurtled down the road, tipping the speed at one hundred miles an hour, "You're not thinking straight, Tony! You're angry at the moment; that's not going to be any help when we get home! Please, just calm down a little bit!" the super soldier was fearful of his boyfriend's anger since, aside from the time Bruce had hidden his scotch collection, they hadn't seen such fury on the man's face. It lurked on the very corners of his dark structures, an invader to the highest decree, and he seemed to be content with leaving it there.

"I've listened to you enough, Steve! Every time Pete acts out, we've been brushing it under the carpet. You were right before! Our boy needs discipline – tonight, he's going to get all the discipline I can give him!"

A fearful prospect, as Tony was in no state of mind to punish his son. There were times when they would argue over his deeds, times when it seemed they were in disagreement, but now all Steve could do was pray; he prayed that Peter was safe right now, and that the billionaire's temper would soothe once he saw him. They didn't need to scare him anymore.

The child was resting in his bed by this point, tucked soundly amongst a few fluffy teddies and chattering music boxes, in an effort to regain his strength. The girls were too fearful to watch him closely but they would occasionally check in, just to make sure he wasn't awake. They didn't feel safe whenever his eyes flickered and, when they saw it, a few of them struggled to hold in screams.

Who could blame them, after all? Such a display hadn't been seen before, hadn't been shown anywhere outside of cinemas, and now they had just witnessed it first-hand. Peter was a remarkable person alright – he was a threat to America, if he carried on with these outbursts.

Violence wasn't something the Avengers condoned, not even when they used it themselves. He would learn that eventually.

"Mr. Stark!" Clarabelle leapt forward as Tony burst through the door, his suit ruffled from the hasty entrance and his eyes wild, "We're so sorry, Mr. Stark! We didn't think he'd...he'd do that! How can he do that, sir?! That's not possible!"

It was good to know that they were still respectful, despite all of their trauma and angst at the hands of Peter. These girls knew that they were still 'underneath' Tony, and they wanted to apologise for pulling him away from his dinner. This wasn't a typical babysitting job; the billionaire understood their position, although he didn't soothe them with details. He didn't even offer an explanation whilst he spoke.

"That's quite alright, girls," he said in a solid voice, "You've done your job to the best of your abilities, and you phoned me when there was a problem. That's not much more we could've asked for. Where is he now?"

"Upstairs, sir. He fell asleep after it happened."

"Ah, good – I see. Here's for the trouble, girls," a movement was made to his wallet, where he produced a good few hundred dollars, "A little extra for the mess. We err...we don't want you to go around telling everyone about this; Pete's a very tender subject around people. He'd get into a lot of trouble."

In light of recent events, the babysitters didn't want to make Tony angry. With his witch-skilled son upstairs, coupled with the presence of his suit and superior intellect, it wouldn't be wise to disobey him. Their story wouldn't be believed anyway.

"Yeah, that's fine!" like a flash, the tycoon found himself empty handed. The girls that were standing in front of him, shivering like newborn kittens were gone, suddenly rushed out of the door like they had found warp-speed. He smiled slightly before he remembered his duties, his little boy that needed punishment.

Steve came in to see his foot disappearing up the stairs, "Tony! Can't we talk about this, please?! Tony?!"

"No more talking!" he shouted in reply, which roused his sleeping son upstairs, "I'm going to deal with this problem once and for all!"

Peter was happy to hear his father's voice since, from his point of view, he'd done nothing but protect the man. He had defended the privacy he so rightly deserved, battled back such vixens as they pried into his life, and yet he didn't see the damage he'd caused. The child was just that – a child, who wanted to do well in his father's eyes.

"Daddy!" the boy's voice echoed through the room when the door swung open, but Tony paid no attention to him. Instead, he lunged forward, taking his son's soft delicate hand and giving it a hard slap. So vicious was this assault that Peter yelped, a cry so powerful it rang through the corridors, where it fell upon Steve's ears and forced him to run to them, in an attempt to save his child. How dare Tony hurt him?! How dare the billionaire – the one who argued he was a good father – attack their son, when he'd only tried to help?! The super soldier wasn't going to stand for this.

"You've been a horrible, evil little boy!"

Peter was so confused that he began crying, his hand stinging with his father's attack, "Daddy!"

"You scared those girls out of their minds! What did you think that was going to do, huh?! Did you think it'd make me happy? I'm so disappointed with you, Pete! You've turned into nothing but a useless thug!"

The words slipped out of his mouth, like a torrent of anger over a gorge's lips, although he saw no reason to stop. Another slap was given, this time softer, but he kept shouting at his little boy, which was more an attack on his psyche. Peter was terrified of his father.

"Tony! Get the Hell off of him!" Steve jumped on his boyfriend's back and slammed him against the wall, as if he were a guardian angel, "Don't you dare hurt him like that! Who do you think you are?!"

"The only one who cares about him, obviously!"

"How can you say you care about him?! You're hitting him!"

Peter couldn't listen to this argument. Neither of them were thinking about him; instead, they were being selfish, and blaming each other for the child's behaviour. It was time he got a say.

"I HATE YOU, DADDIES."

With that, he ran. Their precious little alien, one who had defied all odds to be there, left his luxurious and expensive room in a mess, a heap of emotional state and a broken child. He didn't care where he ran to now – all that mattered was the distance between him and his fathers. He wanted it to be as big as possible, despite their cries for him back.

They could do nothing but hurt him.

"Uncle Loki! Uncle Loki!" a desperate plea for his uncle, the man who had helped him before, "Daddies mean! Daddies hurt Peter! Uncle Loki cares!"

"Shh," a soft, lulling voice came upon the child's ears, one that was both firm and gentle yet, with a slight air of regret, motherly to him. It was a comfort that his uncle hadn't left him, when all of the other lights were extinguished.

"Uncle Loki..."

"Call me Daddy, Osmostinos."


	28. I Trust You

Loki knew what he was doing. He knew that this little boy – the prophetic demi-God – was confused and scared. There wasn't much that he hadn't planned during his villainous scheme, one that would surely put Peter in his enthrallment, yet it seemed that much of it fell entirely to fate. How was he to know that Tony would attack his son? When the billionaire had been so rigid in his protection, although it was evident that only he would hurt him. It was, after all, his hand that had struck the child, and not that of an unknown assailant.

The demoted prince wouldn't harm Peter; Gods had determined him to be born a Frost Giant, which meant that his rage could be fearsome at times, but he wouldn't ever lay a hand on such a masterful creation. He had no right to.

Steve wasn't impressed with Tony's handling. He hated the way the tycoon now sobbed, completely broken by what he had done, when it was his fault for not listening to him. On the long dining room table he wept, crying that he'd never meant to hurt their little boy or frighten him. He only wanted to do the right thing. He only wanted to be a good father.

Good men didn't hit the weak.

"It's not me you've got to apologise to," the leader spat as his boyfriend fell apart, "I could've taken you on, but Pete? He's too small to fight you, and he loves you too much. How about you, eh?! Do you even give a damn about our son?!"

"I love Peter!" Tony defended himself through the tears, which fell freely from his deep chocolate eyes, "He's everything to me – you know that! I just...I just lost control up there, I didn't see sense!"

"Yeah, I'm sure that'll make him feel better. 'I'm sorry I beat you, son, I couldn't control myself!'" no one would let the tycoon get away with this, not after such a vivid display of uncontrollable rage. It was a wonder Steve hadn't called the police, since it seemed so obvious he'd never trust Tony with their boy again. Who could blame him?

"I'll make it up to him, I promise!" the man's weeping continued, "I'll get him anything he wants; I'll buy him a damn zoo if it makes him feel better!"

"Listen to yourself, Stark! You're doing it again! Nothing can be sold to make up for this! Unless you apologise to Peter – I mean really apologise – then you're never going to get our son back again!"

What he didn't know was that this, coupled with recent displays of neglect to the boy, was the final straw for Steve. The super soldier was considering packing themselves both up, to leave this Tower and never return, just so they could be sure this wouldn't happen again. Tony would lose the light of his life if they did that; the billionaire was now dependent on his boyfriend's support, and loved returning home to his smiling son. There would be no happiness if they left.

Upstairs, where this terrifying event had occurred, Peter was listening to his uncle. The black-haired prince discussed things of importance, things that the child had heard before, as if in a dream, and yet still worried him whenever they were spoken. He didn't care about loyalty anymore – his father had betrayed him, which meant that Loki was to be his new carer.

"No more tears, now," he whispered whilst brushing the boy's soft skin, an act of gentle affection, "You do not need to cry over such mortal men. What use does it hold?"

"Daddy love?"

"Anthony Stark? Love someone other than himself? No, dear boy; you have fallen victim to his charms, like so many before you."

Peter wanted to cry again, but there was no point in angering Loki. As his new father, the prince had sworn to protect him, on the condition that he did everything he was told without qualm. He'd never been involved in the more secretive of Tony's operations – things such as the Avengers, SHIELD and other orders – however now, with the help of this God, he would become something more. He wouldn't be that pathetic, mewling child, waiting for the right to go outside.

"When go?"

"You shall leave soon enough, my son."

"Now?"

"No, not yet. There's something I need you to collect before you come to me, and it has yet to be completed," Loki's smile warmed the boy, to the point where he didn't care about his stinging hand, "Upon your third birthday, we shall meet. You will have a certain gift. Remember to treat it nicely, as it shall lead to Tony's downfall."

"No hurt! No hurt Daddy! Mercy good; mercy for hurts. Daddy need no hurt." Peter hadn't lost himself, and he knew that hurting Tony wouldn't make him happier. He still loved the billionaire, still wanted him to succeed in life, but now he thought he could never forgive him. He couldn't leave himself open to another attack.

Loki wasn't expecting this reaction, although he had prepared for it thoroughly, "No matter, my son. We needn't discuss it now. There's much that we can speak about; however I must go, for my brother is arriving to Asguard tomorrow and I must be prepared. He might attack me, beat me and ridicule my power."

"Uncle Fur...Thor good."

"Only to those he plans to deceive, Osmostinos," another smile was flashed and Peter, from where he sat in front of the man, wanted to hug him tightly. If only he wasn't a manifestation, then they would embrace warmly in the dying light. The child's room had become a tomb of anxiety...

"My name Peter," he muttered quietly as the shadows danced, hiding half of his face in a swath of blackness. Loki had meticulously read a prophecy, a scripture that he believed was Peter's future, which made this balance of dark and light seem all the more relevant. He smiled again.

"That is what they'd have you believe, my little Osmostinos."


	29. I'm Sorry

Hours passed. The Tower grew cold, not revived by the team's return, whilst Peter remained hidden in his room, in the only place he thought there was safety. Tony wandered around downstairs, waiting for an opportunity to go and apologise. His little boy needed to be protected...why had he been so vicious?

"I can't believe you sunk that low," Natasha hissed when she wandered past him, as if he didn't have enough to feel bad about, "If that were my son, you'd never go near him again."

The billionaire knew that his friends, no matter how supportive of his plight, hated what he'd done to their child. After all Peter was doing a service, protecting their secrets to the best of his abilities, and for his father to attack him seemed unjust. They didn't want him to think he was evil – they didn't want Tony to ruin his innocence.

"Maybe you should go up to him now. He'll be asleep if you wait much longer," Bruce commented at nine o'clock, after Tony had poured himself a second scotch, drinking it as though it were water, "People don't tend to hear things when they're asleep."

"Ha ha, hilarious."

There wasn't much need for discussion. Tony knew that he needed to do it; he knew that his son needed an apology, but it seemed so impossible. He couldn't face that little boy again and see that wound on his hand, one that he caused. It required a lot of alcohol.

So, after about an hour of drinking, he finally found the strength to go upstairs, a bee-line directed straight to his son's room. What he didn't know was Peter's mood, which had soured over the course of loneliness. He didn't want to see the man's face – he didn't want to remember that billionaire, the one who had saved him from certain death, was near him, to apologise for a hurt he caused. The child had promised to fix his 'hurt', once upon a time.

He never thought he'd have to take it.

"Pete?" he called softly into the darkened room, an air of rage descended over it, "Pete, are you there? It's Daddy."

There was a silence for a moment, like Peter had run away and left his father. It wouldn't be surprising; nothing Tony had done screamed father-figure, and no action would be met with forgiveness. Not immediately, anyway.

"No Daddy. You bad."

"Oh Pete, baby," the child's door scraped against the carpet, a sound that every sane person detested and yet, somehow, the best thing that Tony had heard as he walked to the bed, "I'm so sorry for what I did. I know how much it must've hurt. Can I give you a hug?" he felt like he should have asked, since Peter's fear was so evident. The child was nothing but a shadowy silhouette, flinching at the light brush of his father's hand and edging away.

"No. You hurt."

The billionaire bit back a sob, "I know son, but I love you. I love you a lot."

"I hate you."

The very words, coupled with Tony's already broken heart, seemed to have the bite of a sword. As they sliced through the man's ear drums he stopped, wondering whether or not he should retaliate, or if he should have apologised again. It didn't do any good to sit there, dumb-struck.

"You're angry right now," he reasoned, although more so to himself, "Maybe I shouldn't have come up here – you must hate me so much at the moment, but I couldn't stay away from you. I can't let you go to bed without an apology."

Peter looked up from the confines of his duvet, and saw the silvery glow cast on his father's face. He admired the way it touched his details, sculpted the features he loved so much, yet seemed to dance in mystery. Something about it made him smile, if only for a few meagre seconds.

"You hurt," the child growled in his toughest voice, which was a cross between a squeak-toy and a soft pillow, "I hurt. You hit. Bad man. You bad man. New Daddy now." He wanted his father to understand that he, no matter how simple-minded he seemed, knew that his story was fabricated, and it was Steve's doing that he apologised. The super soldier had always been more honourable than Tony. Peter hadn't seen it before.

"New daddy? What do you mean, Pete? I'm your daddy! Me and Captain Daddy-"

"No! You not Daddy now. You hurt Peter; makes evil, not good. You hurt people small. I angry forever."

With that, he turned, content to never see the man's face again. Angry tears burst the barriers of his eyelids, as if it were a waterfall over a slide, although he didn't let out a sob. Tony's hand brushed against his shoulder again; this time, it settled there for a moment, as he sighed loudly into the darkness. Peter never wanted him to move from that position, considering he'd always felt happy when they were together.

Seconds passed before he said something, "Okay Pete – I understand. You're angry at me right now, and you've got the right to be. I mean...damn, look what I did to your hand; what kind of a man does that?"

Peter listened carefully to his words, "There's nothing I can say that'll make this better. You're never going to love me again but that's okay, because I'll still love you. And when you're going off to college, with all your knowledge, I'll be standing there by the car, cheering you on no matter how much you hate me."

Suddenly, the billionaire got up, a great sadness weighing in his heart and tears threatening his eyes. What hope was there to a man if even his son, his own little legacy to the world, didn't want anything to do with him? He was losing all faith as he walked to the door when, as if by some miracle, a small hand grabbed him, and he turned to see Peter.

"No go," his voice was choked by unshed tears, "Daddy no go. Daddy stay with me. Love Daddy. Miss Daddy."

Their eyes connected, Tony's brown clashing with Peter's green, whilst everything else seemed to dissolve into darkness, "Really, son? Do you forgive me?"

"Mercy to hurts...Peter mercy, and Daddy mercy. Love you, Daddy. Hug?"

And so they hugged, sat upon that luxurious double bed and surrounded by an irrelevant world. Nothing mattered anymore, not physics or material; nothing except for this child mattered and, for him, nothing but that billionaire. They had spent too long angry at each other. Too much energy had been wasted, not loving each other with all their hearts.

"I'm never going to hurt you again, Pete."

"Daddy promise?"

"Promise."


	30. Let Slip

Tony stayed in his son's room that night. He didn't care that Steve waited downstairs, patiently listening for the sounds of his family, or the fact Bruce wanted to talk about his lady friend. All that mattered was Peter, his Peter, and everything that he wanted to do. The others could wait until tomorrow.

"You're going to be King of the world one day," the billionaire teased as his child played, armed with a toy he'd been bought a few weeks ago, "We're going to be living in your big mansion, which is going to be all kitted out with your magic animals and servants. Maybe you'll let Captain Daddy have a gym? You know how much he likes to keep fit."

Peter cast him a sideways glance since, for a good ten minutes into their discussion, he'd been more interested in his game. Unbeknownst to his father, the child had fashioned an imaginary land, one where he was King and he did have a mansion, but there was no gym. It was only him, his fathers and his beloved team, who would do anything to protect him, no matter the cost. They wanted him to become a master of everything. He'd try his hardest to make them proud.

"Will there be a big lab there? We could cure all diseases in a few afternoons, if you'd build a good one in the back. My little Pete, The World's Greatest King! Could you see that, kiddo?"

It was a joke for Tony but not to his son, who'd taken all his words on board. He thought that this meant he could become King of the world, that he could rule over the people with a loving hand, although the truth was all too different. Too naive for the corruption of real life, Peter could've fixed a great many of the world's problems...if only he were given the chance. But no one took chances on little boys, especially ones that were so sheltered by their families.

"Daddy good," mused the child as he played his game, which had peaked his father's curiousity somewhat, "Daddy good, Captain Daddy good. Uncle Loki good too."

Time froze. Tony thought that he had misheard, that his son had said something entirely different and it was his hearing, but when he looked up he knew. He knew that he'd not gotten it wrong. Peter had said Uncle Loki. Peter knew about Loki's existence.

"Where have you heard that name?" he demanded whilst the moonlight sculpted their features. It streamed in strongly from the window, the curtains cast to the side in a lofty fashion, although this serene detail didn't matter to the tycoon. Everything had paled in comparison to this.

"Told me. See Uncle Loki."

"See him? You can't see him Pete – he's not...he's not a nice man. Uncle Thor had to put him in a prison, all the way on his own planet," Tony explained, granted he didn't know of Peter's understanding, "That's how we protect the world from him. Has Thor told you about him before? Maybe he told you and you had a dream; you haven't actually seen him, son."

The child thought he sounded unsure, as if he were trying to convince himself, "Uncle Loki visit! Not real! Can see through. But he visit Peter!"

"What? You could see through him?" a worried frown descended across the man's face, "What're you talking about, Pete? You need to tell me what you've seen, very clearly."

His son's facial expression must've indicated a question, because Tony further explained his reasons.

"If Loki has been visiting you, then you're in a lot of danger. I need to know so that I can tell Steve, and he can tell Thor so he can get Loki to stop. I don't want him talking to you, little guy; it's not safe."

Peter's heart stopped. He didn't think that his father would stop his contact, as it seemed so trivial that he would do such a thing. It wasn't the God's fault that he was in jail since he'd explained; there was a misconception that he wanted to harm the earth, use it to an advantage, whereas in reality it was the exact opposite. Loki wanted to protect the earth and any benefits would be for the people, not him. That's what the demoted prince had taught him, at least, which seemed credible after all the nice things he'd said.

"Peter lie. Uncle Loki not real. Story," it hurt to bite back the truth but, for the protection of his dear uncle, he would gladly do it. Tony had always taught him to be honourable to his family – the chances that they would stay were much greater, and he didn't want to alienate anyone. He would be all alone otherwise...

"Are you totally sure? Because if you're lying to me, Peter, then you're going to get in a lot of trouble, not to mention put the world in a lot of danger. Is there nothing else you want to tell me?"

Furrowed expressions rushed through Tony's features, turning the chiselled good looks into a horrifying mess of fear, although nothing that he hadn't seen before. As his child Peter vowed to love him, no matter how terrifying his moods were or how often he'd swing between emotions. He didn't understand this urgency.

"Nothing," he threw his hands in the air whilst he said it, like he wanted a happy gesture to confirm his lie. He hadn't thought about the solid plastic toy in his hand which, just a few moments before, he'd been controlling through the abyss of imagination, forcing it to dance amongst the blackened night sky and dive between fountains of wonder. It jumped into the sky with his feigned joy and fell back down, only to collide into Tony's eye.

"Ouch!" he shouted in a slight sting of pain, although it was a massive overreaction, "Okay then, Pete. I'll believe you. Come on now – it's time for bed!"

But even as they had their customary, night time wrestle, Tony couldn't stop thinking about his son's 'visit'.


	31. You'll Love Her

Bruce was on cloud nine. The researcher had met the woman of his dreams, the mistress he had so often fantasised, and she didn't care about the Other Guy. She only cared about him – it was the greatest love story, playing out in front of him whilst he sat back and watched. How did he manage to find someone so perfect?

Joanna stood at a firm five foot seven, with a cute blonde bob of hair and a beautiful set of brown eyes which, if fluttered properly, could floor a man in five seconds. She may have been a bit more portly than her profile picture but that didn't matter; Bruce saw gorgeousness, and Tony's blessing had been conferred. Soon enough she would meet Peter, the other light of his life, to solidify her spot in his strange family. Everything was falling into place.

"Morning!" he called when he entered the kitchen, his face the picture of delight as he sashayed past Tony, "Looks like another beautiful day in paradise!"

"Ooo, lover-boy's gone all soft," cooed the billionaire whilst he sipped at his drink, although there were far more important things on his mind. Thor sat across from him, eating his body weight in chicken strips, and he thought to bring up the subject of Loki before he left, which would have to wait for a moment.

"You're gonna have to get your head out of the clouds, Bruce – you and Tony are taking Pete's class," Steve had noticed his boyfriend's odd mood yet, as he'd been wrapped up in his crossword puzzle, there wasn't an opportunity to bring it up. Besides, knowing Tony, he'd just give them a devastating smile and a usual excuse, which would normally consist of, 'Not enough coffee in my cup.'

The researcher had barely heard him, since his mind was concentrated on Joanna, "Yeah, yeah; I'll get to it, just give me a couple of minutes for breakfast. Where is the little guy?"

Suddenly, as if on cue, Natasha waltzed into the kitchen, the squirming little alien locked tightly in her grips. It seemed that Peter had wanted to play, although no woman treated her makeup in the same way he did. Great smears of orange-d foundation sat on his face, complimented by lashings of mascara and a hint – just a hint, mind – of blusher, atop his forehead like a red cloud. Tony took one look at his son and laughed, granted he'd attempted to restrain himself.

"I think I'm going to lock that cupboard from now on," announced Widow whilst she trapped him in his highchair, "My regime got...interrupted, when I found him sitting in the corner, painting the wall with my mascara brush. Oh, Tony; I used your towels to clean it up, hope you don't mind."

He cast an irritated glance towards her but, since his little boy was there, no harsh quip was returned, "That's fine. So, kiddo, why'd you go into Tash's room, eh? Think she needed a bit of help?" he wouldn't miss an opportunity for a side-insult, which couldn't be immediately detected and, at the same time, gave a wonderful bout of self-satisfaction.

"Colours," explained the toddler, albeit his eyes were directed on the grand meal, "Pretty. Use to make wall better. Brush helped." Steve frowned; he'd hoped that his son's language skills would improve, at least in a few months of earth-time. It seemed that he had overestimated the time, or that Peter couldn't learn under the weight of his lessons. Perhaps Tony would fix that...?

"Ah, I see. They are quite pretty, aren't they?" without the energy to poke fun, the billionaire turned to Thor, who had fully enjoyed another load of pop-tarts. A big, straight-toothed grin sat on his face now, stretching the Godly features into some earthly shape, as he always smiled when the alien showed up.

He was just about to say something when Bruce cut into the conversation, "Hey, Pete; here, have some breakfast. Oh...and some cookies, specially made by me last night. I put something extraordinary in them – just like you, little man!" In truth, he'd just used a different recipe from Steve's, although his recipe did contain a large dose of walnuts and chocolate chips.

These treats were presented to the child on a big plate, one that was decorated by lashings of cream, and had a faint border of cherries as a finishing touch. Peter went to test a single, oval-shaped biscuit when he stopped, glancing up at the waiting adults suspiciously. They had never given him sweets for breakfast; what was going on?

"Daddy?" his face turned to his dark-crested father, who had patiently awaited his questions, "Sweet? No – normal sun-time. Captain Daddy make breakfast. Sweets no no." The childish way he said it brought a smile to their faces, granted they wished it was easier to get something past him.

"Ah, well no, you don't usually get sweets for breakfast," Steve was a master at pointless admissions, which was why Tony nicknamed him Captain Obvious, "it's for a special reason that you're getting this. Do you, eh, remember when we went to dinner, and left you with those babysitters?"

Everyone coughed slightly, a sudden awkwardness filling the air before Peter replied, "Yes."

"And do you remember why we went?"

"Hungry?"

"No," a chuckle, "no; if we were hungry, we would've stayed here and made you some dinner. We went to go meet Joanna."

There was silence. Peter, who at this point hadn't thought about the lady, glared at first his father, then his beloved researcher. Why was there a new lady in their minds? Loki had warned that a new person would interrupt them, separate them, and destroy his preciously odd family.

"Joanna bad. She hurt. She not here. Keep out."

Bruce stared at the dark-haired child, wondering whether he meant his words. There was very little opposition from Joanna's presence, very little argument that she didn't belong with him, although it seemed they hadn't anticipated Peter. He didn't want a new face in his home – this was his Tower, not some hussy who barely knew them.

"She's coming over tomorrow to meet you. I hope that you'll be nice to her, Pete, because it'll mean a lot to me if you are. I really like her and I think you will too, if you give her a little chance," the scientist gave him a smile, one that informed him he had no choice in the matter. He wouldn't let that go without a fight.

"No! Bad, Uncle Bruce! Bad Jo-an-na! She hurt but Peter love," pleaded the child, hopefully that his cries would soften their hearts. Although it worked to make them more sympathetic, he found that the team were remaining strong on their decision, even Fury, who hadn't said a word on the matter.

And so, despite his protests, it was decided that she would arrive for dinner. Peter would be dressed in his finest casual clothes (also known as designer baby wear) and Steve would cook, whilst the others were to be on their best behaviour. Strangely, Bruce stared at Tony when he said that.

It looked like the billionaire would have to wait; his discussion with Thor didn't matter right then.


	32. Suits and Dinner

Two days passed in a flash. Peter knew that this woman, this temptress that Bruce cared so greatly for, would spell the end of his time there, and ultimately take his place as the newcomer. She'd take his father's attention – _his _fathers, no one else's – whilst she shoved him out of the limelight, never again to feel the soft touch of affection. It was a dark night when Tony drifted into his room, armed with a sword of teeth and a bowl of magical gel.

"Don't worry kiddo; you'll love Joanna," he yammered away as he inflicted his son's head, "She's a really sweet girl, and she's moderately clever too. I mean, she's no physician, but she'll do for someone like Bruce."

He assumed the little boy cared, although he hadn't bothered to confirm it. It was a natural fact that Peter, no matter how docile he seemed, was really a ball of chaotic destruction, one that was barely contained by his small frame. Tony had barely thought on his true feelings about this, and his conversation about Joanna hardly helped the child. He couldn't cope with this!

"Osmostinos..." the soft voice sang like a lullaby, drifting in from the slightly opened window, "Your time is coming to an end..." Peter couldn't hear it clearly; however it didn't matter, since it seemed Tony had not finished his lecture.

"Remember to be polite. She's a really upper class lady, with brand names and everything. She'll try to make friends with you tonight so I suggest you let her, for Bruce's sake."

Why did he care?

"There's something about her, Pete. I don't know what it is, but I can't say it doesn't exist. It's like...she's all in front of you, every little bit of her, and she's still hiding something away. Maybe Uncle Bruce will find it tonight, eh?"

A crude joke, and one that passed through the innocent young mind. It wasn't like Tony to use such a rudimentary quip although, in light of his present company, he didn't want to come up with something too advanced. Peter may have been smart, but his brain had yet to be tainted.

"She bad," he insisted in that small voice, "Daddy see? Evil!" the billionaire glanced down at his son, angry that he would persist with such lies, which seemed to have no fundamental reason behind them. Here was his child – his alien, his heir and his prince – spouting rubbish about a woman he'd never met, as if she was damaging his position in their hearts. If anything, he was doing that himself.

"Enough of that," his voice was a low growl, frightening the child into silence as the assault on his hair continued. Tony didn't want to hear lies from Peter's mouth, especially not about Bruce's new girlfriend. She deserved a chance. She deserved more than a chance, by what he had seen.

"Is he ready yet?" the exasperated cry came from Steve, who had been outside in 'patient' waiting, "She's not going to care if his hair's perfect, Tony. Let's just get him in the suit!" they had prepared for this event, with a quick trip to the tailors and a day dedicated to clothes shopping. Their Peter wouldn't be seen in anything non-designer, even though his father had begged for an alternative.

"Can't rush perfection!" the billionaire called in reply, "Just give me a few more minutes; he'll be out soon! Has Bruce finished making dinner? Why don't you lend him a hand while I do this?"

Steve stood by the door for a few more seconds, wondering whether he should go in, although he soon turned on his heels and walked away. The cream walls faded into the back of his mind, the beautiful paintings mixed in with each other as he walked, and thought of the lovely Joanna. She'd definitely made an impression on them all, even Tony, who had often claimed none of Bruce's girlfriends would be adequate. It was mainly a humorous exclamation but, none the less, the billionaire always held some element of truth to his words.

"It's not finished, it's not finished!" the kitchen was alive with the smells of dinner, a succulent chicken dish with some exotic touches, "There's so much to do! Steve!"

Bruce was wearing an apron, which didn't seem quite necessary. He was hardly handling the food and, by what the leader could tell, he'd pulled Natasha in to prepare large portions of it. But Steve understood his stress – he wanted to make a good dinner, so that he could impress Joanna the way she did them.

"You're panicking too much," the super soldier laughed as he armed himself, picking up the spare spatula and brandishing it like a sword. He'd handled many weapons in his time, some more so than others, and still he found it exhilarating to wield a kitchen utensil. He couldn't tell why that was; Tony thought he was 'going against the trend,' since his 1930's background wouldn't have had many male chefs.

"She's got to like the dinner!" cried the researcher in reply, "I mean, if she doesn't like it then she might not come back, which means that we won't be able to go to dinner anymore and she wouldn't return my calls and she'd try to keep away from me and-"

A hand connected sharply with his head, one that didn't belong to Steve, "You're gonna get an aneurism, the more you worry about this. Just relax, chill out."

The voice belonged to Fury, who'd stealthily stalked through the kitchen without them noticing. Bruce was grateful for the sense-giving slap, although he felt the familiar throb of pain in his skull, and wondered if it would ever come to permanent damage.

"Thanks...thanks Fury," quickly he got back to work, like the slap had given him some new motivation. He wouldn't want another assault from the director, not when it could cause such pain.

"No problem," Nick prowled away from the men, his eye directed on the door, "Now you two make dinner, and don't skip on the meat! You wouldn't want to upset the men, would you?"

Steve threw slices of onion at him, but the man had quickly slipped out of the room. He'd got away with the side insult, the little quip that Tony was famous for; however he knew they'd get him back, one way or another. They were resourceful men.

A few moments were spent in silent chicken slicing, before finally Bruce broke the silence, "Peter's okay with meeting Jo, right?"

The question caught him off-guard, but he quickly replied, "He'll manage. You know what Pete's like."

"Yeah, I do. I'm worried that he's going to get angry or use his powers on her; we can't stop it when he starts, so she stands a chance of getting hurt. How're we going to deal with that?"

Steve wondered what he meant. It was true that Peter used his powers, especially when he was scared or upset, although he hadn't hurt anyone as of late. And he'd never do it intentionally, even if it happened.

"He'll be fine," the leader finally insisted, "Just give him a chance."

Back upstairs, Tony was putting the finishing touches on Peter's outfit. The small formal suit was decorated with medals, polished to a shining perfection and glimmering with honour, whilst his hair was neatly gelled and styled, to a standard that his father thought appropriate. If a cute child could floor a man, than Peter was definitely ready to attack.

"There we go, little guy," the tycoon sat back on the bed, satisfied with his delicate preparations. It was a moment before his son replied and, even then, he only insisted that the dinner be called off.

"Evil, Daddy!" his eyes sparkled with fear, "Evil! Promise!"

Tony rolled his eyes, speaking in a low tone as he answered, "Peter – I don't think you understand what you're saying. You'll love her. I promise."


	33. Now I Know

The moon was high amongst the stars when Joanna turned up. Her beautiful grey dress accentuated her curves, the glittering fabric dancing like the intensity of her eyes, although Peter remained unimpressed. He sat with his fathers in the foyer, in wait for the dinner and the woman's naive attempts. She'd never make him like her.

She was an intruder.

"Jo!" Bruce smiled as he opened the door, equipped with his best black suit, "It's good to see you! Was the drive here okay? I could've sent for someone to pick you up, if you really wanted it."

His lady friend smiled back at him, granted that she didn't want to be a delicate flower. As a strong feminist, Joanna believed that her self-worth was based on what she could do, and if she accepted any help from a man...well, she'd hardly play to stereotypes.

"It's okay," she replied whilst he led her in. The woman's eyes began darting all over the place, unsure how they could so casually live in such a masterpiece, whereas Peter's were directed straight at her. She was 'pretty', he supposed – with a blonde bob of hair and a curvaceous body, not many men would turn their sights away. Even her glittering blue eyes influenced some idea of beauty, but the child would never accept her. She'd only serve in his downfall, his forgotten legend, and eventually take his place. He didn't need her there.

"Well, of course you remember everyone," the scientist waved his arms in their direction, indicating that he was nervous about their dinner, "They've all been helping me cook. Well, Steve has. Everyone else has sort of been getting ready, you know? Making themselves look good, but we never really need to because-"

"You're wearing a gorgeous dress, Joanna," Natasha cut into Bruce's rambling, which was more a blessing than anything else. Her eyes twinkled at the researcher's new lady, an unspoken welcome between the two females and, perhaps on some levels, a warning; she was not going to be overthrown by a new girl, despite her affiliation with the team. Her feelings were more on a subconscious level though, not like dear sweet Peter's.

"Thanks, it was on sale," her smile was warm to the woman, "I'm not sure if it's to everyone's taste but, I like it. So...where's this Peter, then?"

Joanna had been nervous about meeting the child, especially with the knowledge of his grandeur. Every single member of this team loved him, cared for him like he was truly a God, which meant that she'd have to get into his good graces. How else would her relationship continue? The blessing of Mr. Stark had been a simple formality, compared to this.

Tony turned around for a moment, to give his son a quick check before he was presented. The thick dark hair that he loved was patted down nicely, his green eyes complimented by that adorably small suit, and there wasn't a single speck of dirt across his cheeks. It were as if he was dining with royalty, rather than meeting his uncle's girlfriend.

"This," his voice was thick with love, "is my son, Peter Stark-Rogers. Say hello, little man!" the child remained silent, although he gave the woman a hard stare. She smiled softly at him, cooing a formality like, 'He's so sweet,' or, 'He's got your hair,' granted that they had little meaning. Their eyes never left each other's, not even when his father led him to the table and began to buckle him in, his thoughts on a chat with Joanna.

They were having the usual, tedious conversations, "Did you have any trouble on the road? We're on a higher terrorist alert around this building – sorry if your car got searched but, when it comes to Pete's safety, we don't like to cut corners. Right, Steve?" his other father replied in a chuckle, something that the child didn't listen to closely as he glared at Joanna.

He recalled a documentary they'd watched once, on a particularly rainy day in November. It had shown details of female murderers across the ages – the sort of names you'd expect, with the sort of crimes you'd predict – and he'd not paid much attention, until the ending came about.

"Never forget; just because they've got a pretty face, doesn't mean they have a pretty mind."

Could it be that the beautiful Joanna, one who had captured his beloved Bruce's heart, had some sort of sinister intention? Could she resemble Black Widows, not in name but actions? He'd known that Natasha's codename was such, although he'd never seen any behaviour resembling one. Maybe she'd come to take her place instead? Peter could never let that happen!

"He's not very talkative tonight," the embarrassed Tony muttered during the meal, after several unsuccessful attempts at conversing, "Sometimes he gets in a funny mood, and we don't know why. Have you given him anything caffeinated today, Steve? Maybe that's done it."

"He's been eating the right diet. There's nothing in his food that has much caffeine in; has he had some of your coffee in the lab? Did he take it from you?"

"Not been in the lab all day. Hey little guy, what's up?" the billionaire turned to his son, his face plastered with a heart warming grin, "Are you not feeling well tonight?"

Peter shot a glare towards his father, mostly because he knew what was wrong. He knew that the child, no matter how calm on the outside, was in a world of torment, one that wouldn't go away until she did.

It was a few seconds before he spoke, "Tired. Want bed. Bad dinner." With his words, he pushed away the filled plate in front of him, shooting a glare towards the blonde woman as he did so. She'd realise sooner or later that he didn't want her, and that her relationship with Bruce was nothing more than a failure. His beloved scientist should've been happy – was Peter not enough anymore?

"But...you haven't eaten properly today, Pete."

"Not hungry. Bed."

Steve cast a glance towards his boyfriend, speaking after a quick nod exchange, "You can't get down until you've eaten. You know the rules, Pete – you're not sick, so eat up." The child glared at him with such venom, such animosity that he thought he'd die right there, before he turned to Joanna and spoke in a low tone.

"You bad. You make dinner bad. Out; go. Sad when you here," his eyes began to glow that familiar red shade, only faintly but enough to cause alarm, before the table started rattling with energy. Glasses of wine spilled onto the lovely suits – Joanna's dress was most affected, of course – whilst Peter became lost in his mind, hidden away from the disapproving stares. Tony's eyes widened as he gripped onto his son's hand, with a will like iron when he shouted.

"Peter Stark-Rogers, you stop this behaviour! Right now!" his shouts were met with indifference, "Do you really want a repeat of the other night? I'll do it again!"

All fell silent. Peter, his eyes glittering with disbelief, looked at his father, and suddenly felt scared. He saw that rage dancing in his chocolate depths, the anger that could only build from intense disapproval, whereas before he'd promise to never do it again. Had the billionaire lied to him? Was everything he trusted a lie?

Steve leaned forward to comfort the child, but he felt himself pushed away, "Daddy lie. Daddy bad. Bye bye." With those words, coupled with another hateful stare, Peter raised himself from the blue high chair and walked across the air. Joanna gazed in absolute disbelief, although she'd realise this was probably the norm in Bruce's world. She'd have to get used to these types of things.

"Pete...Pete, wait!" the tycoon cried despite his anger, "Come on son, don't be mad! I'm sorry!" but he was gone, away in his room where the lies stopped; he was safer there.

Thor was the one to break the tension, "It seems our little spaceman is struggling with himself. May I talk to him instead, considering our similar positions?"

"That's alright Thor – I'll deal with it," Tony answered, "In the meantime, can you meet me in the lab later? I need to talk to you."


	34. Realisation

"She'll never understand your importance, Osmostinos," Loki purred to his nephew, who lay sobbing in his arms. Peter's tiny frame trembled against the jade green coat, the trademark frock that he was often seen in, although it was out of upset rather than fear. How could his fathers allow that woman into the house, when they knew how upset it made him? How could they abandon him like this?

"Daddies good. Love Peter…but-" the child was hushed by his protector, quieting him with a brush of his fingertips.

"But they hurt you so much, my nephew. You are too powerful for them – they know this, and yet they insist you stay on this miserable planet, away from the teachings of Asguard," he smiled down, although Peter could see something. There was no humour in his eyes, nothing that screamed humanity or thought, but he couldn't risk losing such kindness. If only one man was showing him this affection and loving him, in any way that his fathers used to, then he'd gladly disregard the absence of normality, especially if that man brought secrets with him. Loki wouldn't abandon him like Tony had.

Loki would teach him things.

"Now you understand," he continued on whilst the boy thought, "You know that they are of no Godly descent, and therefore unsuitable in your parenting. How would you like to be under my control? I could connect your soul with the energy of my own; I could, in all essences, make you my son, who would rule with an iron fist once my reign is over."

Peter nodded weakly, numbly, as if he hadn't even considered what his uncle was proposing. When they were joined there would be no returning, no coming back to the life he'd once led, granted that he didn't really want to. Tony had hurt him so much recently – how could he trust a man that ignored him, with concentration faced towards physics? How could he trust Steve, the propaganda of America, when the hero had been struggling with his father?

They weren't worthy to be his parents. Perhaps after he had gone, they'd finally realise the impact of their actions. It was the only way to teach them.

"Loki daddy," the child's purr was almost ice-like, "Loki daddy, daddies bad. Home now? Home soon."

The demoted prince smiled again, an evil wickedness descending on his face as he replied, "Home? My son, there's no home yet! Remain here, until I can come and collect you from this Hell. God's go through all suffering to become great, do they not?" Peter knew that he wanted something but, to his childish mind, he thought that was the way of friendship. He'd assumed that people would value him if he offered something, especially since his social status was so high.

Who'd want to be friends with the baby Stark-Rogers, other than having a hand on his glorious fortune? Who would comfort him in times of grief, if there wasn't some sort of reward afterwards? He'd never have a true friend when he belonged here; they'd want either his fathers or his money, and neither of those reflected him. Loki was the true path. He'd make sure Peter was protected against all that, all forms of exploitation, whereas his fathers would just allow such ruthlessness.

Downstairs, Tony and Thor were sitting in his laboratory. Fixtures hung out of the ceiling where, on a lazy Sunday afternoon, the billionaire had attempted to make the place 'child-friendly', so that he and Peter could spend more quality time together. A few failed experiments lay in the corner, reminders that he couldn't do everything in building, and he made a mental note to get another spare room converted. They needed a place to work in peace, where his son stood no chance of injury.

"For what reason are we here, Anthony?" the God asked as he stared, his features highlighted by the fierce white glow, "Joanna is probably saddened by Peter's anger – we should go back to dinner, since our absence can wait another day?"

"Steve's talking to Jo; we've got time. I want to talk to you about Pete…something he said, actually," Tony's hand moved towards a sheet of paper, in which he'd recorded every explanation for those words. He had been careful in writing down the details, making certain he didn't miss anything out, although he'd remember it all anyway. A photographic mind came in handy sometimes.

"Oh? Peter said something?" the amused grin on the man's face said it all. He didn't think that the words had any basis to them, despite not hearing what he'd actually mentioned. After all, how could a child say anything advanced? Even though this child had a complicated, highly sought after understanding of things…

"Yes. When I was tucking him in – we were talking about things and…well, he said something about Loki," Thor froze for a moment, as if the very name made his heart stop, "Care to explain?"

It was a while before the God could reply, and even then he was stuttering, "Explain? Explain? What is there to explain, my friend? It's possible he's heard me say the name before; perhaps he invented his own perception?"

"He said he's met him. I don't know if he's telling the truth or if he's just going crazy, but I need some reassurance here. I need to know Loki's locked up, Thor, for good."

The man turned for a moment, not daring to stare into Tony's chocolate eyes. How couldn't he have seen this coming? How could he let such a trickster slip under his gaze, when they knew what he would do? It'd only been a matter of time.

Tony wasn't in the mood to be lenient, "Answer me, damn it! Tell me that you've got that maniac in prison! I need to know he's light years away from my boy!"

Suddenly, all was still. It were as if they were both struck, hit at full speed by an abrupt revelation, although for Tony it was more an understanding. They both knew what Thor was going to say, no matter how he went about saying it.

"I'm sorry, my friend," the apology was stumbled, like he feared the reaction, "Loki escaped prison on my planet, and we've not found him in months. I assumed he'd left, found some unknown corner of the universe."

The billionaire's mind reeled. He'd been so blind! He had found himself so caught up in work, the making of his child's present, that he'd forgotten to look after the boy! How could he face Peter after such a failure? Could it be possible that Loki would attempt something? Surely not – he didn't know of the child, did he?

"Okay…okay, maybe he doesn't know about Pete. We could still be in the clear," reasoned Tony, although the light in Thor's eyes died. What else was he hiding?

"He knows. I spoke of him to the guards and…I believe he overheard my discussion, once I mentioned the spaceman's powers."

After that, all clicked. Peter's mood swings, the apparent lack of obedience, the fear of Joanna; it wasn't his son's fault, it was Loki's!

They couldn't act quickly enough, "Get Peter from his room; make sure everything is in lock down, and nothing is in the building! We've got to protect my son!"


	35. Your World

Peter was playing in the laboratory, his father watching intently from the other side. Hardly the place for his child but, since Tony and the others had gone out searching, they'd have to make do with the arrangements he'd made. After all, if he dared move their precious jewel, the wrath from his boyfriend would be greater than that of a volcano.

"You having fun?" the question echoed noisily through the lab, which had grown cold in the absence of work. Bruce's home projects had become less important after Joanna appeared, put on a backburner in favour of his romance, whilst Tony spent more time on Peter's birthday present, something that couldn't wait for another day. Steve smiled, although he didn't feel happy.

"Cold," the child muttered in reply, his small hands twisting the designs of his toy, "Daddy cold? Cold here. Heat!" like a puppy he obeyed, with a swift flick of the thermostat and an almost immediate rise in temperature. He'd never understand how these things worked; however he was glad for them, since they seemed to help his son greatly.

They continued on in silence for a while. It was so quiet that they could hear a fly buzz, its wings beating against the gleaming clear test tubes, and there was a noticeable difference in the light streaming from outside. Peter peered closely at the moon outside, which dangled like a precariously balanced ballerina on an indigo stage.

Steve saw the small smile on his son's lips, "It's a pretty night, isn't it? Daddy's out there somewhere, making the world just a little bit safer for you. Do you miss him when he's gone?"

The child did not reply; instead, he seemed content to stare, out at a serene world that he had no part in. His fathers made sure that their 'precious jewel' was under lock and key, as far away from the outside as he could physically be, whilst somehow remaining an integral part of society. Mere days after his presence was announced, banners and fliers went up all around New York, like the whole world was celebrating Tony's responsibility, or perhaps were happy that he'd finally found happiness. Maybe they were more joyful for Steve? Peter wouldn't know, even if he were allowed to venture out by himself.

"He misses you," the super soldier continued whilst he crouched beside his boy, "He's always talking about you when we're away. Sometimes, I have to stop him buying you islands! Couldn't imagine what he'd buy if I weren't there – he just wants to make you happy, Pete."

The child raised his eyes, green and blue together like a fusion, and their silence seemed to go on for an eternity. How could they tell him that? How could they look him in the eye, do things that disregarded his opinion, only to claim that they did everything in his best intentions? He wanted to shout in the man's face for a second, but the child could never do that to his own father. Instead he smiled, kissing Steve's nose softly.

"Love daddies…go now. Home soon."

What did he mean? The super soldier had made certain that he was comfortable, that this lab would seem like his room, although there were many fine details that he couldn't fix. Things such as the windows, the conical flasks and the curtains weren't exactly regular; for Peter, however, they were just an enjoyable change to his normal routine.

"Pete…look-"

Suddenly, a loud crash cut Steve off. He'd no time to lunge forward, shield his son away from the offending glass bits, as he found himself quickly smashed into a cream coloured wall. The fluorescent lights smashed into tiny little pieces, showering him in a curtain of shattered hope. They gleamed in the strengthened moonlight – it flooded in from a newly made hole, which had been destroyed by a person he'd never wanted to see again.

Peter jumped backwards, if only to save his fragile body. Beautiful glasses were destroyed on the floor and he, like a baby crying for his mother, felt the sharp sting of teardrops in his eyes. He daren't look up, just in case his father blamed it on him and shouted. He couldn't take another hit.

And Steve was much stronger than Tony.

"Pathetic, tiny little mortal," the sneer was frightfully loud, "Your world cannot take my brilliance, and it certainly cannot contain your 'child'. How dare you even attempt such a crime!" that voice, that jeer – it was Loki's trademark beliefs, that he'd spent so long ploughing into the young Peter's mind.

Steve saw the silhouette of evil in his home. He saw a man and a monster, moulded into a shape that seemed both familiar and cruel; it'd been a hope that, after sometime in his incarceration, Loki would have reformed his ways. Thor might've promised a better man after a while, but it seemed now that he'd miscalculated. The demoted prince was every bit as evil as the stories told.

Glass pieces were sent flying whilst Loki sashayed in, moving towards the trembling nephew he loved, "Ah! You're every inch of perfection! There's nothing that can destroy your power, not even these people!"

Without thinking, Peter struggled against the man's hands. He attempted to break free of the pale claws, to battle against them in favour of his father's side, who was now attempting to gather his strength. Rage boiled down within his stomach as he watched Loki, and saw the way he tried to connect with his son.

"Osmostinos, look at me!" the voice was more a bark this time, "Come – there's no time to waste. You've spent long enough in this prison, do you not remember?"

Peter did remember. He'd thought on the past for a while and, after taking into account their miniscule time together, he didn't want to be taken away. Tony wouldn't hurt him again, if he truly loved the little alien.

"Home…here?"

"Don't go with him, Pete! Please!" Steve called out as he dragged himself along the floor, as if he were a slug without slime, "You don't belong there! You need to stay with me, with Daddy!" the desperation in his voice was enough to make men weep, if they weren't already from this heart breaking display. With a face riddled by cuts and bruises, Captain America didn't look valiant, but instead like a man broken by emotion.

"Daddy!" it was too late. Loki grabbed the child's arm, turned away from the man and, with wings of invisibility, rushed out of the hole. For a moment it seemed they'd dropped, smashed into the ground whilst Steve lay there helpless, although it was like the prince to keep a plan. He was forced to listen to boy's cries as he was stolen, floating on breeze when he struggled to his feet.

"Peter, no!" Steve hobbled to the hole just in time to see. The boy he loved so much, in the arms of a villain they could scarcely describe, was outlined by the glow of the moon, and he saw those dark green eyes.

And the last thing he could hear was a maniacal laugh…


	36. What He's Taken

Tony had heard the crash for miles away. After it sounded, he knew that there was something wrong, that his son was in incredible danger. The Ironman legend couldn't think straight as he pressed his foot down on the peddle, breaking speed limit by nearly treble, and wondering whether Peter was okay.

_He's okay, _he reasoned, _he'll be alright; he's with Steve, for God's sake! He's safe…he just has to be._

Losing him once had been hard enough, on everyone. All the sleepless days spent searching and, even when they found him, their emotions had toyed with the prospect of his death. How many times were they confronted with such a nightmare? How many times did Tony – a practical idol, a figurehead of respect – have to imagine his young son dead, gone to a world where he couldn't follow? These questions buzzed in his head as the colours outside mixed, like they were all in a child's finger painting bowl at some preschool. He couldn't take not knowing.

He was determined to find out.

"Steve? STEVE?" the billionaire shouted when he drove up the front, although he didn't expect his boyfriend to hear. It'd only been for a precaution; Stark saw the smoke rising from the side of his home, and knew in an instant that something had happened. Where was Steve?

The doors slammed open whilst their owner pelted through, a streamlined torpedo in the chaos of his Tower, "Steve?! Peter?! Where are you two?!" he couldn't hear any reply, which served as a cause for more worry. A famous trait of Rogers played in his head – the super soldier always replied, unless he was physically incapable of doing so. Something bad must've happened.

Steve must've been hurt.

Like a bullet he rushed to the lab, where he had locked his lover and his son not an hour ago. That place had held his hope, his future and his reason for living; if they weren't in there, then he'd lost everything in the space of ten seconds. His laboratory would be nothing but a cruel reminder that he, on a night painted by fear, had been destroyed by a force he knew nothing about.

"Steve? Peter?" the locked door opened slowly to his touch, the familiar little _ding _sounding through the stilled air. Fixtures hung down limply from the ceiling, a few broken conical flasks layered the floor, although he didn't care much for those things. After all, he hadn't left this place in the best of conditions, and he didn't expect them to be fixed overnight. Especially when he'd been away…

"T-Tony?" a weakened voice drifted over from the other side, freckled with an intense pain, "T-Tony? I'm here – I'm here…but Pete…" it broke off into a small little sob, as if Steve couldn't take the news again. Maybe if he just ignored it, it'd go away? Maybe this was all a bad dream. Maybe Peter was really upstairs, snoozing softly in his bed and waiting for breakfast the next day? He could always hope for such things, even if they seemed so basic.

The tycoon strode confidently through the rubble, with a sense that his boyfriend was in dire pain. Upon seeing his face, littered fiercely with cuts and bruises, Tony had to stop himself from screaming out in fury, from swearing vengeance to whatever did this and tending to his lover's wounds. There was more that had to be done.

His mouth was dry as he spoke, "What…what happened here? Where's Peter? Where's our son?!" the child was nowhere to be seen; however, in this mess, nothing could be seen very clearly. It'd been plunged into darkness not a few moments before, when a lighting fixture had fallen with a loud crash.

"Peter?" the soldier scrambled to his legs, the familiar blue eyes transcending in a daze, "Peter? PETE!" he rushed to a generously sized hole in the lab which, by some act of priority, Tony had completely missed when he'd entered. It was a matter of mere seconds as Steve gazed frantically round, looking for a child he'd witnessed being kidnapped, and then remembered the horrifying incident.

"Where's Peter?!"

"Loki…Loki took him!" the shout rattled the Tower and sent glass bits sprawling, "Loki's got our boy! Come on, we've got to go get the others; we've got to save Peter!" another familiar look fell to his eyes, but this one caused fear to strike Tony's very core. He'd seen this wild expression only once before – once, when he'd angered him to such an extent.

This was the look he had when Peter first used his powers, all those months ago in the kitchen. A hauntingly terrifying gaze…one that Tony hadn't seen in a while.

Tears pricked the tycoon's eyes as he spoke, "Loki's got him?! How the Hell did he get our son; weren't you watching him?!" he didn't want to accuse Steve of negligence but, since it seemed his little boy was gone, there was nothing else he could do. If he thought about it, his mind would surely collapse into its grief, never to return to the land he once knew, and forever stuck upon what could have been.

"Yeah, I was watching him! I was sitting right there when Loki bust through the wall, said some irrelevant stuff I'd no clue about, then took our boy and left! You want me to give you a minute-by-minute account, Tony?! Or are we going to shut the Hell up and go look for Peter?!"

Struck by fear at Steve's anger, the billionaire quickly silenced himself. What good could come out of arguing with him? It'd been not long ago that they lay together, wondering which school to put their son in and what degrees he'd most want to take, whilst always discussing the prospect of a football-related career. Never once had their minds strolled to his third kidnap…

"Wait a minute…the suit!" Tony's mind suddenly became directed to his project, "Where's Peter's suit?!"

His boyfriend was less than impressed, "Our son's GONE, Tony! What the Hell are you doing, talking about his birthday present?!"

"Loki doesn't just want Pete – he wants to destroy the Avengers, for what we did to him. Where's the damn suit?!" he frantically started to cast away the broken glasses, with a single thought raring in his head. The demoted prince was a trick one, who'd managed to hide his true intentions until he got their son, and played the whole world as a game of cards.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" his shout was louder than Hell, "He's taken the damn suit; he's got our boy and the suit! DAMN IT!" with that he fell to the floor, as if everything in his world had just crumbled to ash. Like a toddler he curled up in the foetal position, hands by his head whilst he wept, only to be even more saddened when Steve wrapped his arms around him. How could this have all happened? How could they have played to his game? How could they have alienated Pete?

The two men lay there in that position, weeping for their loss. Eternity could pass – they'd never let this go.


	37. Perhaps

Peter felt the coldness around him. The non-existent atmosphere of space enclosed him, destroyed him, although for some reason he was fine. Changes in pressure didn't cause harm to him – in fact, when he realised they were floating through the darkened emptiness, he realised that he'd stopped breathing. What madness was this? Was his inhuman nature coming out, bringing him to his full potential in the depths of this barrenness?

What he didn't know was Loki, ever the masterful trickster, had fashioned a force-field around them, which could never have been done without Peter's power. He syphoned off small snippets of the boy's natural skill, as if the very presence of such a child caused strain, whilst they continued to float effortlessly through the 'sky'.

The alien chose not to struggle. He had this crazy idea that when they reached Asguard, Loki would be more open to debate. Perhaps this was all a misunderstanding, and he'd be allowed to go home once his uncle saw the effects? Steve and Tony were probably up in arms about it now, searching for him amongst the debris, swearing revenge on a man who hadn't technically done anything…

"We're nearing my home world," the silence became broken by his uncle's voice, who seemed to be giddy with joy as they flew, "We must act quickly. Upon arrival the gatekeeper – you shall see him, an odd man – will attempt to block our entry, but that shan't be a problem with you. Those powers that you have will be put to the test."

"Daddy test home. I home?" the child's words came out like a mere whisper, with such respect in them that it verged on veneration. How dare a lesser speak such words? Especially to Loki, a God who had regularly proven his awesome might.

A concealed object lay behind them, cloaked by a large sheet and hampered by the stench of oil. Peter's curiosity had failed him for a long while but, now, he suddenly felt the urge to reveal it, to see what majesty Loki had brought with them. It'd certainly been within his Tower at some point; he'd seen that very same shawl in the lab, although Tony had told him to stay away. Maybe it wasn't a WMD? He'd always assumed it was.

"Your home is coming. Dry your eyes now, and cry no more child. I am here to protect you," the demoted prince shabbily pulled up his sleeves, using it as a wipe for his nephew's eyes. Peter felt the jade material scratch against his cheeks but he didn't cry, since it seemed so futile to do so. No one would hear in the vast emptiness of space.

"Daddy?"

"That's who I am, son."

"No, real daddy. Home, Tower! Miss him, miss him!" his uncle was at best, angered by this remark. How dare the child wish for his home? How dare the masterful boy cry, when Loki had worked so hard to free him? That Tower hadn't been more than a prison – it was a cage where, even with its fancy laboratories and science facilities, Peter's growth would be hindered. Couldn't he see what the prince had done?! This opportunity…it didn't come to most shining stars, especially if they were earth-bound mortals.

It took moments for him to answer, "You shall change that tone soon enough. Come, my son, there should be no more words, not when we are so close to our home. Do you remember the princely greetings? I shall teach them to you again, once we have retrieved our rightful places." He truly believed that the throne belonged to him, whereas Thor had fought for the Kingship. Knotted with muscle and tainted only by arrogance, the God transformed himself into a ruler almost overnight, granted that he was back to the lesser role of Prince. He'd no wish for the throne – not yet, when he'd so much more to do on earth.

Peter couldn't imagine himself as King. There had been times when he played it, with little block houses and string skyscrapers, although that was much different from real life. His subjects, then pieces of plastic and teddy bears, would contort into these horrifying things, possessing their own voices and opinions! How could he ever satisfy them all? He was too young for such struggles.

Loki could imagine it, though. He saw Peter as a majestic beacon of fire, riding above the pathetic worms he once called friends. Great torrents would rage from his fingertips, as if he were no more a boy than he was a demon, whilst below him the people screamed for mercy, of which he had none. He'd glare down at them with contempt; an emotion that the prince possessed, but not one that he would freely let play. If they dare do that, nothing would ever get done! And standards would be much too high to settle for Asguard.

Tony imagined nothing. There wasn't anything in his mind at that moment, save his crushing despair. If he'd only been there…if he'd only come back from that pointless patrol, he might've been able to save the child he so loved. He might've been able to stop Loki from taking him. Steve may not have received so many cuts and bruises, and there wouldn't be any cause for weeping now. If only, if only…

"I love you, Pete," words he should've said when he had the chance, "I love you so much, Pete. Just…just come home, please? Come back? I miss you already. Please, Peter, please."

A single tear fell down his face, which seemed to almost age in his stress. It'd been no more than an hour since he found out the horrible news – could it be that, in those sixty minutes, his skin could become so intensely weathered? Did the child replenish his natural good looks? It seemed so, as he'd been gone for a while and his father was already feeling the effects. Poor, young little Peter; depended on, and yet discarded so easily.

Perhaps now they'd start listening.


	38. A Few Days Later

When the news broke out, everyone wanted a piece of the Avengers. There were multitudes of press updates, generous lashings of media interference and, on a darker note, a thousand of blog entries about the failure of their trusted team, who had not managed to look after their own young. How could this instil faith in the masses? How could they think about the torment Tony went through – a father's agony at losing his son – when they were too concerned about themselves, and their own safety as this dark time raged on?

The billionaire spent time in the laboratory, the very place where his life had been stolen. Loki could be anywhere by now, using Peter's powers to gain some sick advantage; there wasn't a thing they could do about it, stuck down on earth as they drifted through the universe. He was light-years away from his boy.

He was light-years away from life.

Steve wasn't much better. Nothing ever really fazed him or made him upset, although all of those aspects went out of the window during fatherhood. Time passed and he realised that, through no fault of his own, the super soldier had fallen for the tender embraces of love, and had reinvented himself to become a more emotional figurehead. These changes showed as he sat in that burgundy chair, sipping cautiously on his seventh wine glass and thinking about the child he loved. Every seemed to remind him about Peter, even the innocent curtains when they twitched by his window, as if taunting him of their delicate situation, how he made a mess of things.

"Another update to the fan site," Bruce sighed downstairs whilst he worked on his laptop. Thor looked over the large coffee cup in front of him, red eyes peaking curiously at his friend.

"And, what does it say?"

"The flavour of the night," sadness brushed the researcher's refined tone, "This one's saying, 'How can you guys live with yourselves? Peter wasn't a major problem to handle, was he?! If I was the social, you'd have him taken off you!'" he sighed again, but this time with anger.

What would it take for people to leave them alone? Just because they were the heroes, the Avengers, didn't mean that they weren't entitled to a screw up every now and again. They'd never understand the hidden details of Peter's care; they'd never realise that the boy was a powerful creature, capable of a world's destruction, and contained by his innocent childishness. They couldn't fathom what it took to keep him happy.

Then again, if they knew what Peter could do, they'd probably want him off their planet. The human mind was a fickle thing.

Thor sat back in his chair, "These people know nothing of our situation. We cannot allow them – with any of their taunts, mind – to get to us, or else we will never help our friends."

"Look at them, Thor; Tony's a mess and Steve's no better. We'll be lucky if they ever come downstairs, let alone get better," as he spoke Banner stood up, clutching at his empty beer can with an iron-like grip. There wasn't much they could say about this, since it seemed so obvious that the pair wouldn't listen. How could they? Mourning was a different thing to cope with. They were in the deepest of that grief now, for their child that they barely had time to know.

"His birthday will be coming up soon," Natasha muttered to Clint in their room, her hands on the present she'd been making, "How're we going to make Tony forget? He'll be so upset – we'll all be so upset, since he's gone…"

"We can't make him forget. He'll be upset all that day, probably for a couple of years after; if we're lucky he'll pull himself out of it, by the time he's hit retirement age."

"Can we do anything, though?" her voice was so pathetic, so wonderfully fragile that Clint found himself heartbroken. Without a thought, he wrapped his arm around the woman's shoulder, as if he could make her feel better by that one gesture.

"No," he whispered, "We can't do anything…not until we find out where Pete is."


	39. So it Begins

Peter stepped upon the solid Asguard gate, suddenly in awe of the beautiful world. Loki was not with him – the demoted prince had disappeared, leaving with him strict instructions upon his arrival. This land was completely new and the boy, without a loving hand to guide him, seemed to be confused, even though the commands had been more than clear.

Get in. Meet people. Make them feel sorry for you. Destroy.

It wasn't anymore simple than that. Yet, as he gazed up at that gleaming ball-gate, watching whilst it stilled and hushed to his meagre entrance, there seemed to be nothing further from his mind except study. How could he make a world like this? How could he fashion such a masterpiece, out of little more than materials and physics? He'd work to craft something so beautiful; he would make his fathers proud, should they ever smile at something he'd done.

"And who are you?" a gruff voice made him jump, squeaking in a childish fear, "I saw your travels, but not your companion. What's your name, child?"

Peter saw the man's face, although it was masked by a golden helmet. He stood at the height of about six foot two, the entirety of his body shielded by a polished plate of armour, whilst his eyes continued to bore down into the child's mind. Those eyes – a glowing amber – were almost enough to destroy his small thoughts.

"They call Peter," his voice became inflicted by braveness, "Peter name. You? Gatekeep, closed mind." If he was going to do this then it'd be done properly, so that Loki's anger was not provoked. The child had wished he had seen through the shroud of lies, the defiance that lay within his uncle's promises and depictions, although there was no going back now. His fathers would surely hate him.

He'd no choice but to obey.

The gatekeeper was noticeably surprised by Peter – children did not normally react that way, not in his grand world of Asguard. They were respectful towards him, as if he were ordained by the very divines themselves, christened by something they could never understand. Peter's matter-of-fact manner was nothing short of interesting.

"I do not possess a closed mind; rather that someone possesses magic beyond my vision. Do you travel with someone?" the man walked forward and, for all that he was worth, Peter timidly stepped back. Cool metal seeped on his back as he pressed up against it, nervous for the wrath that this stranger surely possessed, a thought of wonder for what his fathers were doing.

He missed the team already. Did they miss him?

"Travel lone," his reply was peppered by mistruth, but masked so well that no one could detect it, "Myself. Peter fly through space and found here. Here nice?" was that a challenge? Anyone else might have taken it as one, if it hadn't fallen from the mouth of such an angel. With his dark locks and green eyes, wrapped up in the confines of his soft pale complexion, there seemed to be no reason to disregard what the child said. The Gatekeeper may have been wary; however, it was more a formality than anything else, and he wanted nothing more than the take the newcomer to his King. What a story this would be!

Still, that didn't explain his arrival. How could he know that this would a friendly land? That the people there were of sane minds, rather than their Frost Giant counterparts or any other inhabitants? If he was knowledgeable of such things, there would be cause to believe he went there with a purpose. Or, at least, someone else had a purpose…

"Then I shall contact the guard," his words seemed to be for himself, "They are sure to take you to the castle, where our King resides. Have you ever seen such a brave city, child? Peter, was it?"

"Peter – Osmos…" the child began talking but trailed off, suddenly realising that the revelation could mean his doom. After all if Loki, with his criminally insane mind and devious grins, knew who he was, surely these people would have some inclination? Perhaps his true parents had been great spacemen, who battled brave monsters to keep intergalactic peace? Or they may have been responsible for debate, some sort of committee in which these worlds could argue their points, and find solace with the entirety of the universe?

Either way, it was best not to let that information slip. Loki may have been frightfully angry. He couldn't risk another outburst from the prince, not when there were no friendly faces to save him. His father…what was he doing…?

The Gatekeeper hardly seemed to notice his words, "Come, come; there's some things that you must see, especially in this world. Where do you hail from? You seem familiar – I would warrant you human, since you seem so far from their ability. I felt it when you came in."

"No power!"

"Are you sure?" his eyebrows rose, more concerned for the child's speed than the lie, "There are many things that I see, Peter, and dishonesty is one of them. Do you wish to change your answer? Are you sure about your power?"

The youngster gulped nervously, with a realisation that this person could see through him. Many people would just take the lie and roll with it, not ask too many questions and simply live by his angelic features, although this didn't seem to be the case with him. Was he intending to get Peter killed?

As he thought, the child noticed the beautiful structure of the 'gate'. Its gorgeous exterior was plated with solid gold, like some sort of glorified label to an already majestic thing. In the light of Asguard, Earth seemed to be nothing more than a pathetic child, clutching at the strands of perfection that only this world was capable of. Maybe he was in the wrong place? Maybe Loki was right? Nothing could ever match to this world…

"Come, then," the Gatekeeper could be patient, "You shall go to our King, and he shall decide."


	40. Superior

Tony's memory had taken a vicious beating that week, with the aid of his ever-handy scotch. Every time he felt the slightest twinge of sorrow – in fact, every time he pictured Peter's childish face – the billionaire would quickly wash it down with a large gulp, to the agony of Steve and Bruce.

"He's drinking himself to death," they would comment mournfully in the foyer, where their friend rarely ever showed his face. Only a few times had they seen Tony since that fateful night, only a few appearances had he made after Peter's kidnap, and each one saw slow deterioration. He'd almost completely transformed; instead of the usually confident, suave tycoon they'd grown used to, he existed as a sad pathetic little man, wallowing in a cesspit of self-pity.

Upstairs, Fury was talking with his superiors. It was yet another one of those 'you must do this' discussions, in which he would receive a ludicrous set of demands and, as if by a miracle, make them a reality.

That night was a twist, however. Instead of simply disappearing as they would normally do, off to file news reports or stamp paperwork, his superiors continued to loom on the overhead screens, like damning Devils in the flames of Hell. Fury stood there in the darkness, wondering if he should take leave first or continue with this incessant chat. Didn't they know the loss they had suffered?!

"Your team has started to attract some attention, Nicholas," one muttered from the right-hand side, "Peter's disappearance has been all over the news."

The eye-patched man gulped furiously before replying, "Yes. We recently lost Peter to Loki – we're trying to recover him, sir."

"You'd do better than try. We don't need this sort of attention drawn to the Avengers, especially at times like this!"

"I'm very sorry, sir, but we have to remember the upset-"

"Stark and Rogers are experienced soldiers, Fury, and I expect them to start shaping up. The media are just loving Stark-Roger's kidnap; can you believe how bad this is making us look?!"

"With all due respect, I trust that Tony and Steve feel even worse!" the reply came as a shout, "They've lost their son! To Loki, no less! Do you remember what he did to Earth?!"

"We remember that he very nearly killed hundreds of American citizens, if that's what you're saying. I'm sorry, Fury," the balding man in front of him wore a solemn expression, one that seemed genuine but was a clever disguise, "We can't risk another attack."

As if he were in pain, Nick closed his one good eye and thought about the child. The familiar dark locks came to mind, the hair that he secretly liked to tousle when no one was looking, whilst the boy's small stature started to form. His cowering frame was tiny, adorable when he sat there eating his miniscule meals.

With this in mind, the director answered his superiors in earnest, "You might not be able to help us, but we can damn well help ourselves. We don't need the military, SHIELD or any other organisation you've got under your sleeve; we're the Avengers, and this?" he turned away from the screens, "This is a personal matter. Fury out."

Back downstairs, Tony had just emerged from his twelve hour hibernation. He'd a pre-determined beeline towards the nearest liquor cabinet which, much to the team's anger, had recently been lock picked and its contents stolen; it was going to be a fun day of drinking and no thinking.

It was located in the 'abandoned' room – it wasn't really abandoned but after much consideration, Tony had rapidly transformed the 'botanic gardens' into a handy liquor storage. Who needed plants, anyway?

"Oh, there you are," Steve said from the chair, specially set up so he'd catch his boyfriend, "I wanted to talk to you."

The billionaire squinted in the bleak sunlight, as the turquoise curtains had been drawn for this encounter, "What do you mean?"

"We can't keep going on like this. We've got to take the fight to Loki," it was one of the only times Steve would propose a fight, when it came to their young Peter. Usually he was a pacifist, fighting when the government ordered it or when there was really no other choice, yet this young boy always changed his tone.

No one would threaten their child. No one had the right.

Tony's face fell as he opened another vodka bottle, "And how do you suggest we do that, sunshine? Walk in, demand him back, and he'll just give him up? Could work…if we knew where he was, obviously."

Although he was expecting this harsh comeback, Steve was deeply hurt. He understood Tony's scepticism and his anger; after all, he'd reacted the same way to the leader's Christian faith, whilst keeping some sort of scientific air about him. Now they could clearly see, underneath all that knowledge, he was just a father waiting for his child, for his little boy to return home.

"We ask Thor where Loki's most likely to be," the super soldier strode towards him, "Don't be stupid, Tony; we both know that he's got Peter for a reason."

His boyfriend's eyes narrowed. With one hand he gripped the bottle, staring deeply at the man he loved, before taking a deep gulp from it.

"His powers."

Tony chuckled slightly, "What else do people want with Pete? They don't see what you and I see…they don't see him as a person!"

The super soldier's eyes softened, if only for a small moment. He loved seeing this part of Tony – the vulnerable man he'd fallen in love with, rather than the sarcastic tycoon that everyone else saw. It was wonderful to meet him on this level. He wouldn't allow just anyone to witness it.

"I know," he put an arm around Tony's shoulder, "I know. So let's get our boy back and show them, yeah? Let's get Pete back."

The billionaire smiled through his slowly growing haze, "Let's."


	41. GateKeeper's Fear

The Gatekeeper was wary of Peter, despite his warm attitude. He had seen things – he knew that the young boy was with someone and, with a heart dedicated to his King, he would do anything to protect the monarchy. Heimdall had convinced himself that Peter was hiding something.

Well, he wasn't wrong.

"What's this, Heimdall?" a booming voice echoed around the throne room, which little Stark-Rogers admired in silence. Glorious plates of gold lined the otherwise uninteresting walls, grand stairs leading towards an even finer throne and, atop the gleaming seat of power, sat Odin All-Father, whom Peter had only known from stories and legends.

He was a proud man, possessing a huge array of strength despite his old age. Hair that was once a golden mane became thick with grey, spirals of wisdom that could be seen, whilst his eye seemed to shimmer with knowledge very few could obtain. With one patch over his left socket, the child could only think as to what caused such an injury, although he quivered noticeably when the King's gaze fell on him. Heimdall waited before he dared reply.

"A young visitor, it seems," he said in his most respectful tone, "he arrived here not fifteen minutes ago, and since has not told me where he's from. He did not come alone."

"Then who's come with him? Who is he?" the King peered closely at Peter, as a newcomer was rare in his great Kingdom. If they weren't birthed by his Asgards – the people he protected so dearly – then Odin rarely had time for them, and chose to ignore other races until they became involved with 'political issues.'

It was then that the child spoke, cutting off the Gatekeeper with his high voice, "Peter! My name Peter. I come Earth. Come far…meet you, Odin. Asgard, pretty Asgard!" his words were hardly respectable and his tone unrefined, but the King couldn't help feeling a slight twinge of affection.

Like his young son Thor, Odin had been imprinted with a drastic sense of right and wrong. He thought that there was a time and a place to rule with iron fists, such as in times of war or famine, whilst there were also times to be gentle, like at that very moment. Frightening young Peter wouldn't do anything.

"An intrepid adventurer?" his wife chuckled from her own seat, in which she had advised her husband many times. Frigga was a beautiful woman, blessed from birth with looks that would kill, although she rarely ever used these to her advantage. In fact, the Queen preferred to use her well-honed wisdom and words to get what she wanted. That was the natural order of things.

Heimdall's face barely moved as he repeated, "He didn't come alone. There was someone with him, someone who didn't come to the gate."

"Who was your companion, Peter?" Odin chose to ignore his Gatekeeper, despite the wisdom and loyalty he'd shown in such situations, "Why didn't they come with you?"

The child froze. Loki hadn't warned him of such questions; he didn't ever think he'd be asked to explain why, without giving away their already precarious plan. If only Tony were with him at that moment, there to sweep him up in his arms and take him back home, granted that their arguments had been long and bitter. Recent months seemed to dissipate in his mind as he thought of home, the place that he'd fought for and would have died for.

"Little one," Queen Frigga started to speak in his haze, "Are you alright?"

Dark green eyes turned to the woman, who had a soft expression on her light face. He somehow found solace within those weathered features, the ones that seemed to disappear when she smiled, and even had strength enough to grin.

"Sick. He sick. I here now, save him. Medicine." Peter explained to the best of his abilities, since these Asgardians were strangely English speakers. If only someone had been gifted in his native tongue, which still niggled ominously at the back of his mind.

Her face became creased with seriousness, "Your companion's sick? Why hasn't he come for help? Why did he send you, young Peter?"

"Catch sick, bad sick! He knows sick, and it bad sick. You sick if he come. He save you!" the child lied through gritted teeth. He hated the idea of such dishonesty, especially in the home of people so kind to him, although Loki would likely have his head if he didn't. What he wouldn't give to be in the arms of Steve again – the super soldier would rebuke him for such lies, perhaps even tell the Queen of their true intentions. He couldn't say that Tony would be so honourable…

Odin had listened carefully to the conversation, even though he found little interest in it. There wasn't much that caught his attention; in fact, it was a wonder he hadn't nodded off to sleep.

"Then…Heimdall, take him to the doctor," ordered the King, "Prepare him with some of our remedies."

"And when I return, sire?"

"If he's still with you, we shall discuss it then."


	42. Thor's Input

Tony and Steve were determined to find their son. After the first kidnap – one where they didn't know where he'd be – this one seemed quite straightforward, as there was no doubt Peter would be in Asgard. Loki's agenda with that world seemed almost limitless, and his spite towards the team ensured Earth was next.

"We've got to get up there," the billionaire was saying over their coffee table, which had been loaded with all sorts of coffee cups and takeaway bags, "he's going to be there, with your parents. I've managed to save us some time-"

"I shall go there by use of the Bifrost Bridge," Thor cut into his speech, as if he was wary about letting his friends go there. Asgard was a beautiful world, possessing such wonderful structures that they might rival Heaven, although the Avengers had never seen it first-hand. Tony's eyes narrowed at his companion, who had tried his best to be helpful so far.

"We're all going," the reply was sharp, confident, "Everyone is going to get Pete, not just you. I'm not risking it." The two stared at each other for a moment, so intently that the surrounding men feared conflict. There had been a few clashes so far with Tony; he'd managed to annoy Romanoff, Clint and Fury that morning, all in the space of five minutes and with the use of one bread slice.

The billionaire seemed age. Every time Peter disappeared, the normally youthful looks seemed to melt away – instead, where there was superficial beauty, Tony had been ravaged with the sharp spear of age and, coupled with this, the shield of regret, which effectively made him look elderly. His son made this features light in people's eyes, dancing with the air of fatherhood as he preceded over his business. Where was that beauty now?

Gone. Like his child, his hopes and dreams, the beauty had vanished from his life, with no hope of returning until Peter was returned. When their young alien lay in his bed again, then Tony would come back to life.

He just needed his baby back. He wanted to make things right.

Thor looked as though he might have argued, although he quickly decided against it. By the expression on his friend's face, there would be no debate over the subject, nothing that anyone could say to change his mind. Steve loomed over near the bar, where he was drowning his sorrows and vaguely listening to the discussions.

At the mention of Asgard, his ears had pricked up, "We're going to Asgard, then? Are you sure we can get there? You've mentioned that guy before…oh God, what was his name...Heim-fall?" the super soldier rested his head against the scotch glass, which had been refilled at least several times that morning. Thor's face fell as he watched his friend – it was rare that Steve drank, and even rarer that he forgot names. Scotch affected him far worse than Tony.

"Heimdall, you mean."

"Oh, yeah, him," the leader's voice was little more than a whisper, "will he let us in? D'you think he's seen Pete?"

Thor nodded cautiously whilst the man continued to drink, draining what was left of his beverage. Each second that passed seemed like agony, each moment coated with its own misery, since even Tony had noticed the way his boyfriend mourned, with something that he'd never drink and a voice that paled in comparison. He'd be like this until they got Peter back – they had to save their son, just to make things normal again.

Well, normal for the Avengers.

"He sees everyone and everything. Peter's probably with him now, and my brother locked up in his prison cell. You must never fear when it comes to Asgard, my friends, for we are made of stronger stuff than you."

A smile descended upon the God's lips. With one large hand, he patted his billionaire companion's back and began to make his way towards the lift, where he intended to go and get some more food. It'd been a least two hours since he last ate.

"Can you contact them?" Steve suddenly called, rubbing his head with the back of his hand, "Can you speak to Heimdall, or maybe your parents? Maybe they've seen him. Maybe they've got him. We could just go get him, you know, like a pickup after play dates."

Both men turned towards him. The usually calmed light features were creased now, frayed with worry and regret, tinged with the bittersweet tang of hope. Peter was their life, after all, and him being gone had left a hole in their worlds.

"He'll be fine, Steve," the tycoon muttered from the sofa, even though he wasn't sure of it himself. How could they be certain that Asgard would take care of him, instead of referring to the child as a trespasser and throwing him in some dark cell? How scared would their son be? Stuck in a colourless dungeon, forced to sit amongst the most advanced of criminals whilst he waited for his daddies…it was heart breaking to think about. Peter's babyish ways wouldn't be welcomed there.

He had to be rescued. Maybe they could go that day? Thor saw the expression on his companion's faces and, for a brief second, he thought the same thing, although he saw that he'd have to be the voice of reason. Bruce was too busy consoling Joanna to be of any use.

"We can't go today, my friends – there's far too much that I have to consider, especially with my people. Allow me to speak to my father and I shall find out when we can make our arrival; I'm sure he has our spaceman, Steve," the God smiled warmly at the leader who, at this point, was trying his best to hold in his tears, "My father is kind. He would not harm that which looks harmless."

Those words were his farewell, as Thor quickly raced for the lift and went about his usual activities. He'd need all the strength he could get if he had to speak to Odin, even though their relationship had been rather good recently.

But Steve and Tony…they were still worried. What if they had it wrong? What if Loki hadn't taken Peter there, but instead to a different world? What if they weren't on the right track, their child somewhere in that massive universe, without any chance for rescue or recapture?

What if they had been nicer to him?


	43. Lying in Your Arms

Peter sat upon the lap of Odin, King of the amazing Asgardian world. The child was suitably mesmerised by his war stories and the historical accounts of justice being done, although a niggling thought of Loki remained in his mind. When would the prince show up? He'd barely been given time to adjust to this world, to adjust not being on Earth's hardened surface and amongst the humans, granted that his uncle seemed uncaring.

"That's how we defeated the Frost Giants, little one," the one-eyed monarch ended on a high note, with the likes of evil being driven from a goodly land, "And how humanity became freed from them. You're a rather eager listener."

A smile descended upon Odin's weather face, which had become aged beyond his years by war and destruction. Where most people would have murdered for his position – many had, in the way of assassinations – the King could hardly wait to step down from the throne, and rid himself of the weight that came with it. Being with a child as young as Peter…well, it seemed to make up for all of those struggles.

"Help Earth? You good if help. Daddy…" the boy's voice trailed off slightly, his glimmering green eyes glazed by sadness whilst he thought of past memories. Tony's face lingered in his mind; if Peter hadn't spoken to Loki that fateful day, perhaps he would still be in the billionaire's arms?

Though, he was certain they'd forgotten about him.

"Who is your father?" Odin inquired curiously, his voice lined with a hint of concern. There was something about this particularly child, something about the way he moved and listened that didn't quite measure up to a normal infant; however, that didn't mean that Odin would persecute him. He just wanted to understand Peter more.

Did the boy remind him of something…?

The dark-crested child's head shook for a moment before he replied, "Daddy gone now. Back home, but home gone. Last one."

He was, in fact, referring to his actual father, who had been cruelly killed at the hands of a jealous alien race. Peter wasn't the type to lie – if he ever spoke any dishonesty, no matter how small or pathetic it seemed to be, he'd make sure that it was technically correct. He didn't want to be like the villains.

"You're the last one?"

"I fly long time. Woke up strange world. I welcomed?" a question rather than a statement; Loki had told him that he needed to be welcomed, that their entire plan rested on the fact they would accept him. So far he'd experienced nothing but open arms and friendly faces.

Another voice entered the room, this one as soft as a butterfly's kiss, "Of course you are welcomed, little one. We could hardly stand to send you back out there, with no guide to protect you. What was your race?"

Peter froze once more. He'd never been faced with a question like this – not even on Earth, where there had been much speculation about his true origins and several news reports on his mother. Some presenters used to argue that he'd come from the belly of a whore, one who'd been fortunately employed and knocked up by infamous Tony Stark, whereas others attempted to say he'd been the result of a miscalculated science experiment. Who could kill their own experiment, after all?

Those were the people who believed in Peter's ancient powers. They were the people who, through no fault of their own, trusted the rumours and little stories spread about young Stark-Rogers. They'd nothing else to go on, since Tony kept him so securely locked up.

But finally, he found some words that would satisfy the Queen, "Don't know. Big race, big world, gone now. Daddy dead. Mummy dead. No family now."

With one tiny hand, he reached up to touch the Queen's ever soft face. Like a child he began to grow used to them, began to delicately trace the lines that so elegantly formed her features, playing as though they were a puppet and he were the puppeteer. She smiled at him; her own son used to do the same thing, far back into the distant past when he was but an infant.

"Thor talks about a child just like you – my son Thor – and it's striking how you match the description," she cooed softly, plucking Peter from her husband's arms, "Dark hair, green eyes, even a little smile like yours! He calls the child a 'little spaceman' but I do wonder what his real name is."

A smile stretched across Peter's lips. It was nice to think that Thor had talked about him, shared his menial existence with the likes of his family, even though the boy had never heard him doing so. The God typically showed his love in more traditional ways, such as taking him out for a hammer-throwing lesson or discussing ancient struggles between two races.

"Bad baby," he growled, "Bad baby; hate baby, bad baby. Peter not good but bad baby."

"How do you know he's a bad baby, little one? You've never met him."

"Evil! Evil evil evil baby!" the child insisted, his voice becoming strained with such words. She looked down at him with fear in her eyes, as if it worried her to see such a young boy with such hatred in his heart, whilst Odin had become more interested in her words.

Peter did match Thor's description, almost perfectly so. When his son had bothered contacting them from Earth he chatted about nonsense, most usually the things that his new team had got up to or the ever-present intimidation put on the planet, and sometimes fell upon the subject of the 'little spaceman.' It was never anything important mind, yet the light humour whenever he talked about him seemed to make up for all that time of silence.

Suddenly, there was a load crash outside. Odin jumped from his throne, the thoughts evaporating as he raced towards the arched window. Walls rattled so fiercely that he thought the whole world had begun to cave in on itself, becoming nothing more than a hollow shell of what it had once been.

"What's happening?" his wife asked as she clutched young Peter to her chest, her eyes wide with confusion.

"We're under attack."


	44. See Things My Way

No sooner had Odin uttered those words, a side of the castle wall seemed to almost explode. Peter was flung from the Queen's arms as she squealed, unsure of whether they were under attack or on the verge of annihilation, and all he could hear was the sound of firearms. Did the Asgardians use such weapons?! He couldn't tell from where he was lying, a fresh cut on his forehead.

"What's that?!" the lady's voice screamed yet Peter, with his eyes covered by a thin mist of tears and rubble, couldn't see her, "Odin…Odin, where's the little one?!"

"Don't worry; I'm sure he is safe. Quickly, take yourself away, go and gather the maidens you can and hide within our walls. Where are the Warriors Three?" Peter attempted to listen to the conversation but it was difficult, as by then the sound of explosions had become closer. Haunting laughter echoed through the grand room as the child struggled from the rubble, the rocks that had fallen on his legs.

The chilling laugh eventually moulded into some sort of speech, "You will both kneel before me as the rightful king!" the child suddenly realised what was going on. There hadn't been enough time!

Spine-tingling terror went through him like a bullet through the head, his small voice screaming in the din of all that noise. With his soft hands Peter pawed at the chains, trying his best to free himself before Loki could arrive, although deep down he knew that he'd be too late. The demoted Prince was nothing but a lying cheat, a bastard – he wanted to be seated on the throne of Asgard even whilst his subjects died, as if their deaths would mean something in the grand scheme of things.

Why had Peter ever fallen for his tricks? He should've listened to his uncle Thor; Loki was a brother of mischief and deceit. He would never be a friend. Not again.

"You!" Odin's wizened voice cried, and moments later the child heard a sickening smack. On a guess, he might've claimed that it was similar to a twig breaking or a flower being pulled off its stem, granted that Peter didn't care what it sounded like. He wanted to know what had happened to the man who had been so kind to him, giving him a warm lap to sit on, a story to hear, his wife's comfortable arms to cuddle into as he told such tales. He had been blind before – he'd been blind to Loki and his ways, and he'd abandoned the people who truly cared about him.

_Daddy, _the boy thought as he cautiously peeked over a rock piece, one that had missed his head by mere inches, _Daddy, Captain Daddy…help Peter…_

What he saw was a nightmare.

Odin lay across the bare rocks of his once-proud throne room, his one good eye covered by cascades of blood and his grey hair streaked with red. From where he was laying, his wife, the ever lovely Queen of Asgard, was attempting to care for him in a way that only she could, as if they were joined by a bond no one would understand. It seemed as though he would get up at any moment to battle Loki, who was floating in the middle of the room with his arms outstretched.

A crown sat upon the madman's head. Not a traditional headpiece as Peter had seen in his storybooks, but one that still glimmered with the prospect of great wealth and power. Loki's face stretched into a wicked grin long before the child found the courage to look, although this quickly disappeared when he turned his head, spying the blessed alien underneath that pile of rocks. Almost instantly, the madman changed into a sudden pinnacle of worry.

"Osmostinos?!" he gasped as he descended to the floor, a strange glowing staff locked in his hands, "Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you?" Peter hated the way he dusted the dirt from his dark locks, the way he seemed so shocked at the babyish cut on his forehead and how he fussed over it. Did Loki honestly think he could be a father? A person? Did he think that Peter – even with his patience – would ever accept him as a replacement for Tony, who had saved him from certain death at the hands of an alien race?

Although, he was far too terrified to protest. With sighs on his voice, the child allowed Loki to slowly dust away the residue of his assault and smile at him, like he meant something to the demented mastermind. Those glints in his brown eyes meant nothing; they had no basis to them, nothing that could tell Peter he was valued as anything other than an asset.

He found the courage to speak after a few moments, "When home?"

"This is your home now, Osmostinos," Loki replied in haste, "You're my son; together, we're going to rule Asgard."

"But…but…don't like here…"

"What are you talking about? It's amazing! This world is…it's the pinnacle of perfection! You've not taken enough time to love it!" just as he spoke another explosion sounded, followed by the screams of women. Peter slipped out of his uncle's grasp long enough to run to the entrance, where he was able to look out at the 'perfect world' he spoke so fondly of. He didn't see anything that resembled perfection, or anything that resembled a world.

Great demons flew overhead with riders on their backs, steered by a huge metal construct that would normally be seen on horses. Around them lay the ashes of Asgard – what was left of the great city once Loki had sought his revenge, and the people had retreated to their separate prisons. Fire crackled from one end of the Bifrost Bridge and from where Peter was standing, on his tiptoes and with palms firmly placed on the jagged ledge below, he could see the arson attacks quickly sweeping through the city. Where there had once been shimmering buildings, there was now flame.

Loki patted him on the back, "There there, little one. You will understand why I did this…someday, you'll have this whole world under your command. You will know why I did it then."

All the child could do was turn and fall into Loki's arms. The green clad appendages quickly wrapped themselves around his small frame, gripping him closely as the tears sprung from his eyes, their glistening drops almost echoing each time they hit the floor. Was this all his fault? Had Asgard fallen because of him?

Without thinking, the demoted prince leaned towards his glowing blue staff. It had taken a long time for him to retrieve it again and, when he'd finally done so, he suddenly realised how many years it would take him to grow used to it. Peter looked up and smiled innocently through his tears, his eyes directed straight from the grinning Prince's face.

"Don't worry, my Osmostinos," he whispered whilst the child stared, "You'll soon see things my way."

A burning pain started to build through Peter's chest and before he could react - before he could even cry in pain – the world started to fade. Noises became little more than faint buzzes in the back of his mind, touch and smell numbing to the reality that was his loss, and there was only one thing he could hear.

"You'll soon see things my way."

The world disappeared.


	45. Signal

Thor had quickly become concerned about his home planet. Attempts to get into contact had failed, whilst his usual messages came back filled with 'error' and 'no retrieval' warnings. With a steady hand he pressed against the familiar black desk, the only place he deemed suitable to set up communications equipment.

"Any luck?" Bruce asked him nervously whenever he entered a room, as he was the only one to know about their silence. There wasn't any point telling Tony about it – if the billionaire knew that Asgard was down and, potentially, his son was in massive danger there, then he'd launch an attack quicker than they could bat an eyelid.

The God didn't want to answer his friend, although he knew that would be pointless, "I don't want to tell Steve or Tony. It will worry them far more than necessary."

Whilst he could understand Thor's fear, Bruce didn't quite agree with his reasoning. Their little Peter could've been in real danger there, his entire life in the twisted hands of Loki and his path, yet he wanted to stop his fathers from knowing so that they wouldn't go into Asgard. He seemed to be thinking on a linear scale.

"They're getting impatient, Thor. This is their son we're talking about; I'm surprised they've waited this long. Tony's not sleeping and Steve's having nightmares already!"

"I know! I…I know. Peter's our main concern but…but…I don't want to…I don't want our friends destroying my world," the God's admission was quiet, so much so that if he'd been any more silent, it wouldn't have been audible, "They've done a fine job tearing this planet up searching for him, and mine takes a long time to recover from such assaults. How can I be sure that they won't…?"

His voice trailed off, his eyes glazing over as he thought of his beautiful home world. The towering constructs gathered in his mind, the ones that floated just above the sparkling clean surface and reflected dazzling lights, each one a pinnacle of perfection. If he'd had any sense – or rather, if Earth didn't hold his friends – Thor would have never left Asgard, instead favouring to take his rightful place as King and rule over his people in the ways he saw fit. Any man would have been honoured for such a chance.

Any man that wasn't of Asgard, of course.

Bruce understood what he was saying, but he didn't see how that affected their position. The little alien they loved so dearly was missing and, in that respect, they should've been willing to bring the very sky down for his return. Many times the scientist had stayed up at night, his hands busy on whatever invention would help them. What was Thor doing?

"They won't intentionally destroy anything," a warm hand came to rest on the man's shoulder, brown soothing eyes directed into his sparkling blue ones, "They'll be careful while they're there, to protect Pete if nothing else. You can't keep them in the dark anymore." What he said rang true; if Thor continued putting off the news and lied to his friends, they'd surely become far more worried than they had been in the first place. Although, saying that, they hadn't exactly been the rational heroes they normally were…

It was at that moment that Tony strode into the room, familiar dark bags collecting under his eyelids as he voyaged towards the bar. Momentarily he flicked his gaze to Thor, like he was hoping that the God would have some news or that he'd finally let them go to Asgard, although soon he turned to the glass scotch bottles and oceans of whiskey.

"Are you okay?" it didn't take a genius to see the billionaire's bloodshot eyes, which had been worsening as they days went on, "Did you sleep alright last night?"

Stark didn't want to grace that with a reply. They all knew that his sleeping had been thrown off, that his days and nights had moulded together since his little boy had been taken from them, yet they insisted on asking him ridiculous questions that didn't really mean anything. Whilst he poured another drink into his glass and added ice cubes, he pondered on a sufficient reply.

"No."

"Did Steve's nightmares wake you up?"

"No."

"Oh," the scientist gingerly put down the magazine he had been reading, as if too loud a drop would offend his billionaire counterpart, "I see."

"Pete's birthday in a few days," Tony's voice was etched by a distress, a sadness that only another father could understand, "Bet you guys forgot all about that, didn't you?"

Thor was the next to speak, "You are not being fair, my friend. We all remembered."

"Yeah, fair. I suppose it's fair that my little boy's been ripped away from home, all alone and scared just because of your messed up brother. I guess it's fair that he's always targeted by these lunatics just because of his powers. And I guess it's fair that we're all stuck down here not knowing where he is, wondering if we're ever going to see him again. So yeah, I might not be being fair here, but thank God the rest of the world is, eh?"

With a great swig of his drink, the billionaire quickly drained his glass of all its contents and set about making another one. It'd become a known fact that when faced with adversary, Tony would rapidly make for his drinks cabinet – it was his way of coping, a method that Steve despised and hoped that their son wouldn't pick up on.

Bruce found his voice after a few moments of silence, but it was laced with uncertainty and involuntarily squeaked, "I think Thor's got some news for you, Tony. Don't you have something to say?" the scientist's eyes turned to his friend who, by this time, had fallen as silent as a dormouse. His own eyes burned with anger as the tycoon turned to him.

"Yes, I have. It concerns Asgard."

"What is it?! Is Peter there?! Have you found my boy?!" Instantly Tony's tiredness seemed to disappear, the bags vanishing as hope scuttled into his eyes. Perhaps the world wasn't such a harsh place after all?

Thor took a deep breath, steadying himself on a nearby banister before replying, "No, I haven't heard anything. That's worrying me. I think that Loki's attacked it, or at least the signal's down."

It was all Tony needed to hear. The name 'Loki' sent a shiver of rage through his veins, his eyes glowing with a blind fury that would shake the nerves of any man, whilst he quickly threw his glass to one side and began prepping for a fast journey.

"Get Steve and the others. We're going to Asgard right now – I need to find my boy."


	46. This World

The silence of Asgard was enough to send a man insane. Loki sat back on the throne, smiling warmly as his young 'son' Peter played with a few toys and he pondered on his success. All that it took to conquer his home was a child! A boy that, for some reason he couldn't understand, seemed to trust with his heart rather than using his head about things. It was probably a good thing.

"The perimeters been checked," he nodded as a few men swanned into the room, their arms laden with more metals the child could play with, "No more stragglers, sir. The people are accepting of your reign."

"Not yet, they're not," with a sigh he took up his cane, the heavy helmet on his head threatening to snap his neck in two as he walked. The men glanced at each other before they took their positions in the room, which seemed to stream with golden rays and glorious sunlight.

"What do you mean sir?"

"They're hoping that my brother shall come and save them," his explanation came as a low growl, as if the very thought of Thor entering caused offence rather than happiness. The demoted prince gently stroked his son's head when he passed him, although the child didn't look up from the toys he played with, "But they don't understand that I'm the best thing for Asgard. Thor doesn't know how to work well in a team, let alone run a monarchy up here!"

Peter's ears twitched whilst he uttered the word 'Thor,' yet he didn't look up from his gentle playthings; they had been fashioned from a few metals in Asgard, the ones that were brought back from scavenges and salvaged from the wreckage of a few buildings. Who knew that such things could make ideal toys?

Tony would have a heart attack if he saw his son now.

"Yes, sir," one of the men stepped forward with a look of respect on his face, like the heavy green armour they wore wasn't weighing down on him and Asgard was still intact around them, "We understand that Thor can't run Asgard. You've been quick to tell us that. But what should we do when he arrives?"

Loki turned round with a fire burning in his eyes. Briefly, he allowed them to flicker over to the child he'd kidnapped, granted that they quickly turned to the men that lined his new throne room. They were his men! They couldn't question his methods, surely?!

"When he turns up – no doubt with those pathetic mortals he calls a team – you fight them until they're dead! We don't want anything to happen now, do we?" he sashayed to the open doorway in front of them, where he'd a clear line of vision towards the world he ruled.

He leaned forward on the golden banister that bordered it, "Osmostinos, come here. I want you to see something."

The child looked up, his red eyes glowing in the already bright light around them. He clambered to his feet on Loki's demands but, as he walked up to him with his tiny footsteps, the men around him began to clear the toys he'd been playing with.

"This world belongs to you as well, son," the demoted prince picked him up, a smile playing on his pale features, "You're my son, and you own this world almost as much as I do. Are you excited for it?"

Peter's eyes flickered once, just enough to show a light blue hue to his normally green irises, "Yes, father."


	47. Sleeping

Tony and Steve were in the master bedroom that night, making plans for their son's swift return. They'd expected it to be a long time before Peter forgave them – the child was quick to find fault with their parenting styles, especially since they'd almost ignored him in the weeks leading to his kidnap.

The billionaire soon found himself rubbing his eyes, which had strained over the time they had been inspecting those terrifying black and white sketches, "What time is it?"

"About three AM," Steve yawned in reply, a single hand fisted in his light blonde hair as he stretched his free arm, "We've been at this a good eight hours now."

"Really? It feels like years," Tony's soft admittance was enough to inform his boyfriend; there wasn't anything more horrifying for him than their current situation, with their child snatched away from home and in the arms of some madman bent on destroying the world. Those sketches weren't just sketches for him. They were the very essence of their son's rescue. They were the world and more.

That's why Steve felt a hand instinctively stretch out, stroking the familiar black hair that he'd fallen in love with, "You're exhausted. It's time you had a break and – dare I say it? – a proper night's sleep."

"I'm fine. Just get me another pot of coffee and I can power through the night," though his voice became etched with the usual defiance he held, Tony's eyes were betraying his tiredness. They drooped with what seemed like centuries of work, threatening to close the very instant Steve left the room to make coffee, and he couldn't help but think how much his boyfriend had aged over the months. It always seemed to vanish when Peter returned to them.

"You're not fine. You're tired."

"Who cares anyway? We need to get Peter home," the tycoon strode towards the bed where he'd left blueprints, the most vital ones that they had in that entire Tower, "I was just going over the schematics and…uh…well…sorry, what was I saying?" he rubbed his eyes again as he began to pick each individual plan up, allowing them to slide through his fingers when he realised his strength was failing him. The pristine mind he'd always had suddenly began to wane whilst he looked for a seat, the single hope in his mind that Steve hadn't noticed the change and would soon go to get coffee.

But of course, Rogers was on top of his boyfriend's precarious state, "I care about you too, Tony. You matter just as much as Pete does. If you collapse from exhaustion, how are we going to save our little man? Think about it."

He was right. As Tony gazed up at those chiselled features and square jaw, he realised that there was a wisdom sparkling in his deep blue eyes. He realised that Peter would be safer if he rested. Perhaps if he was on top of his game, Loki's imminent battle wouldn't be so complex to deal with?

"You're right, you're right. Why are you always right?" he sighed whilst he threw all the blueprints off his bed, not caring where they went since they were all pretty much useless. His calloused hands began to remove the thick black duvet that decorated the bed-sheets, his eyes locked on Steve to prove that he was actually listening for a change.

The super soldier's smile sent a warmth through him, "Because I'm the responsible one in the family. If we left everything to you, and God forbid we do, our whole team would've collapsed in booze and girls."

"Not girls. I wouldn't want them."

"Hm? Why not, playboy?"

"Why would I want them when I have you, Steve?" his eyes seemed to radiate hurt as he finally broke the duvet free, revealing the ruffled bed-sheets that he hadn't slept on in a while, "I thought I proved that I love you?"

Steve's heart almost exploded with an intense love for his boyfriend, and he didn't even register when he clambered on the bed to give him a soft peck on the lips. It wasn't that he didn't know Tony loved him; it was just that the billionaire neglected to say it, which normally caused a bit of worry that Rogers wasn't interesting him enough. After all they did run in completely different circles, what with the super soldier's interests in sports and modesty and Stark's passions in science and the high life.

"I love you too," he mumbled softly into his ear whilst Tony joined him, a single tear dancing in his eyes, "And we'll get our baby back. Between the both of us? Loki's got a lot to worry about, just you wait and see. Pete's going to be back in our arms in no time."

With that Tony collapsed, his head on the chest that he'd taken comfort on so many times as his hands stroked the soft blue fabric. The moon rose in the sky and sent its shadowy minions to dance on the walls, like it was giving them a show to calm their ever increasing nerves.

"Pete's birthday was a few days ago," the billionaire said after what seemed like an age of silence. Steve's eyes flickered down to his lover.

"I know."

"Do you think he had fun?"

"What, on his birthday?"

"Yeah…I'd like to think he was doing something nice at the time, y'know? Something that he likes to do, like building a house of blocks or making some dolly," Tony's eyes steamed over with the memories of the past, "I shouldn't have yelled at him so much for that."

Steve leaned forward to peck the billionaire's head, "Hey, hey – don't get worked up about the past, sweetheart. There's nothing you can do to change it now. Just be a bit nicer about it when he comes home, yeah?"

But Tony couldn't stop thinking about it. The idea seemed so trivial that his young son couldn't enjoy himself with blocks and imagination, yet he knew that it would all be fixed at some point. Steve would make sure he didn't repeat his mistakes.

After all, he did offer Tony sleep.


	48. Faster

The next day Thor had made it clear – they would be on their way to Asgard by the end of the week, since he'd been unsuccessful in getting word back from his parents. Days would stretch by endlessly for Tony and Steve who, by that point, just wanted their little boy back in their arms and being watched by people they actually trusted. It wasn't desirable that they would have to wait so long.

But Thor wouldn't allow them to push him. He would sit back and wait for his father's response, just in case they were making a big thing out of nothing. After all, it was like him to jump to the worst case scenario, acting purely on instinct as he clambered to his weapons and rushed into things head-on. He needed to take a step back from his past mistakes. It was time he learnt some form of self-control.

"You're making a mistake," Fury muttered over their breakfast that morning, soon after Tony had stormed off to prepare for the journey, "It's time we took the battle straight to Loki, without pussy-footing around the problem! Pete's not going to get safer if we sit back and watch."

"My father is likely to contact me. I will not be seen as the foolish over-reactor again, Fury, and I'm not letting Tony bully me into making any rash decisions," the God picked up his supersized coffee cup, taking a large gulp whilst he tried to calm his ever increasing nerves. Why couldn't they understand the shame that came with being hard headed? Surely Tony would understand his position, perhaps even sympathise with his plight and try to support what he was doing; still, it might have been difficult when it was his child.

Fury's eye glared at the God that sat beside him, although he knew that any amount of staring wouldn't help their situation. Thor had made up his mind. It would take nothing short of a hostage negotiator to change it.

"Fine, but I'm not dealing with the aftermath of your choice. If Tony gets pissed off about it, it's your problem!" his words struck the God more than he realised, as he knew that every second Tony was displeased was another eternity of bickering and whining. He didn't want to keep the man away from his child, of course – it just wasn't a good idea to charge into something he didn't know anything about, especially when the ever elusive Loki was involved.

He couldn't let Fury know about his fear, "I'm not afraid of Tony. If he's worried about Peter, he knows that his fears are unfounded. I am the son of Odin, for God's sake!" as if that meant anything to Fury, and anything to the others that surrounded him. They wanted the God to get his head out of the clouds and send for a way to finally get into Asgard, so that they could charge in and rescue the baby they cared so much about.

Black Widow couldn't find any peace at night. Even when she sipped against the coffee that she had managed to scrape together, her mind was on the little boy that she'd helped look after. She imagined his dark locks being ruffled up by a man she hated; it was a sight that she hoped never to lay her eyes upon, just in case she reached forward and began to punch him senseless.

"He's your nephew too," Steve muttered as he attempted to eat his homemade spinach soup, "he's your nephew just as much as he's my son, Thor." The horrific green slime on his spoon made a slurping noise when he thoughtfully swallowed it, yet he couldn't think about the taste while he was gazing into the God's eyes. He wanted him to see the exact torment he and Tony had been through.

Thor's eyes glimmered with a sense of longing for a moment, like he was considering the idea of jumping on a rocket and setting a course straight for Asgard. It would mean that their little Peter would be in their arms quickly – it would mean that, should everything had been alright and they were just making a big thing out of nothing, his father would chuckle at his foolishness. He couldn't run that risk.

"I know he's my nephew, and I care very much that he could be in danger right now," Thor said tactfully, "Just give it some time. I am sure my father will contact us soon to tell us we were worrying about nothing. It's ridiculous to rush into something when we're half blind, isn't it?"

A desperate plea to the super soldier's thoughtful side, which had taken a backburner since the theft of his young boy. It wasn't a good idea to try and appeal to a father without his son; their sense of rationality had long since abandoned them, instead floating in the horrifying dimension between reality and a nightmare.

"It's not ridiculous when there's a chance we could get Peter."

"Steve…" Clint began his sentence but found no words to finish it.

"No!" the super soldier leapt to his feet and abandoned his attempt to eat the soup, even though his stomach howled for the relief of food, "I'm not sitting here and listening to how I should be rational about this! My son is up there somewhere; you just don't seem to care about him enough to even risk it, Thor!"

"Steve, that's enough-"

"NO! I want my baby back!" with a sound similar to a wolf's howl, the leader suddenly leapt from his seat and ran to find his beloved boyfriend. They needed to work that situation out.

They needed to make Thor go faster.


	49. The Plan

_Just a quick note from me before I get on with the chapter - I'm planning to do a new story after this one that just basically contains clippings of Peter's life after the kidnappings. I'm not receiving much support on these chapters anymore so, if it's something that interests you, drop me a message or a review and I'll think about it :) thanks.  
_

* * *

Peter was playing innocently in his new room – a grand chamber donned with all sorts of streaming gold, peppered by the luxurious radiance that came with royalty. Loki had been careful to remove all similarities to his previous life although there were some things that couldn't be avoided, such as the childish toys that littered the gleaming white floor and his cutesy blue pyjamas that would stave off cold.

But the child didn't care about those things. He didn't care that he was far away from his real family. He only cared that the world of Asgard was under his 'father's' control and that, when he reached a certain age, he would be able to usurp the throne from his green-clad fists.

The tickling gold specks ghosted along his fingers as he played, moving each block like it was a delicate schematic and he was the ruler of physics. Smiles flickered on his pale face whilst the city underneath his fingertips took shape, grew from his decisions as and when he made them, despite the fact he had not added a decent democracy in his idea of a perfect world. The reddened eyes glimmered with power when he put himself at the helm of such utopias, all of which had no choice in how their governments ran things or dealt with their future generations.

From the darkened archway at the left side of his room, Loki watched the boy work. He admired the way Peter seemed to disregard what his people wanted, instead favouring to place his own ideas ahead of theirs and effectively run his world in a more monarchy-approved fashion. Dark locks flapped noiselessly on the child's head although he didn't seem to mind, since he had become so absorbed in his work that he couldn't see anything else.

_My son's becoming excellent at leading,_ the Prince thought as he continued to stare at his hostage, _those citizens wouldn't have a word on how it's all run and he'd have his own guard at his side. I couldn't ask for a better successor._

Red towers began to build to the sky whilst Peter used his powers to lift them, each block a testament to the boy he had suddenly become. When Tony looked after him the child hadn't wanted to hurt a fly, much less rule over a Kingdom that he had no part in. Now, as he sat in that golden room…

"There's something wrong, sir," Loki turned furiously to face his newest guardsman, who was simply a young boy of three hundred armed to the teeth, "We're not getting any other signals apart from Thor. I think he's starting to doubt Asgard's wellbeing. He keeps asking for his father."

"Odin? That old fool is still in the dungeon – we can't risk him knowing that Thor is worried about them," the newly-crowned King stalked through the glorious halls of his stolen palace, which had long before been inflicted by admirable legends and heroic deeds. Only he saw the truth behind it.

He saw the darkened conspiracies that had been constructed within those walls. Where there was radiance he saw fury and misdeeds, granted that he wasn't far from the truth when he thought about such notions. Odin had committed many a crime behind the walls of luxury; whilst his citizens believed that he asked for their opinion and always kept their best interests at heart, it'd all been a show. He had been the puppeteer of a ridiculous scheme.

"What should we do?"

"What else? Keep telling Thor that all is well!"

"But he'll come up here to look eventually."

Loki didn't want to hear such rationality. He knew that Thor would come to see what was wrong with Asgard at some point, probably accompanied with those insufferable fools that thought they had claim to Peter. As he gazed about at the grand throne room with its bouquets of golden lilies, lovingly decorated by the superb gleam of royal grandeur and heartfelt adoration of the citizens, he knew that he couldn't keep telling himself that he wouldn't run into trouble.

The horned crown sat eerily still as he took his seat upon the throne, "Then we'll be ready for him when he does. Do you expect me to just sit back and wait for my brother to come here? I need the guard to be ready!"

His guardsman's fair head seemed to tremble as he thought about what the God would do, should he have ventured to find the land in such poor shape. He hadn't joined up for a death sentence. He'd joined up to avoid one.

"How should we do that, sir?" he fell to one knee as he spoke, the green scale armour like lead when he bent his head to the sparkling floor, "Your order is our main concern. Your wellbeing is our utmost priority. We must defend you and the son of Asgard, Osmostinos."

But for once, Loki didn't know what to do. The comfortable fit of his royal cotton wouldn't help him make war plans, much less defend his little boy as the threats began to add up. What would he do if the Avengers tried to re-claim their treasure? How would Loki cope with seeing Peter get snatched away from him, when it was so obvious that he deserved the child far more? How would they ever contain the power that he possessed?

Suddenly something clicked. Loki knew what he would do. He'd the greatest power ever at his very fingertips – the child didn't have an opinion or willpower of his own! Under the control of his divine power, Peter couldn't understand how he had been so pathetic before.

"Use Osmostinos." he said. The guardsman looked up with a confused glint in his eye, wondering if he had heard his 'King' correctly, "use my son to battle them back. He doesn't want to go with them again, to be fooled by Stark's words and Roger's actions. He'll fight them back."

How else would they destroy the Avengers? Peter wouldn't be attacked; it was time for the child to prove his loyalty.


	50. How to Cope

Steve wandered up the stairs with a huge plate of food in his arms, the only thing that gave him comfort in those bleak times. In the week they had been arguing, the leader managed to put away at least seven six-packs of beer and a huge amount of fried snacks, including the gut-churning Burger King selection.

He didn't care about looking good in front of Tony. The billionaire was just as upset as he was and, usually, they would pig out on all sorts of unhealthy snacks that weren't in their diet plan. They just wanted their Peter back. Until he was back in their arms, the gym could wait.

"Got the biscuits?" Tony asked as his boyfriend entered the dimly lit master bedroom, his eyes trained on the blue schematics and plans that sat in front of him, "The Fox's selection stuff?"

"Of course! I got them first," the soldier began to lay them out on the already heaving glass desk, noticing that they hadn't cleaned off the last fast food festival that befell them the night before. When he attempted to make a mental note about it, he found that he didn't care so much as he would if they had Peter back. What reason did they need to be presentable? It wasn't like there was a little one who could hurt himself, running around with curiousity as he often did.

Tony didn't look up from his workspace as he replied, "Good. I've been craving those biscuits for…forever! Do you know I haven't looked at these blueprints in two years? I got bored of them – didn't want to build something so pointless. I guess that was a stupid move."

With heavy eyes the billionaire gazed at his boyfriend, like he was going to disappear just as his son had. The tiredness in them seemed to almost seep through every expensive object surrounding the man; it wasn't so much unnerving as horrifying for Steve, who had often thought that his lover was made of steel.

"It's not stupid," his voice came out in a purr whilst he set the high-calorie treats down, "It just wasn't needed at the time. Did you see people building wind-farms when we had plenty of oil? No, but it would've been a good move."

Tony's lips stretched into a smile. With weary eyes, he gazed back down at the schematics and began to plan their next few moves, so that they would have a clear image for when they went to save Peter. He needed things to go smoothly that time – perhaps if they saved him again, no one else would dare come near his sweet little treasure again. Maybe they could actually have a normal family life instead of battling for peace at every turn, hoping that they survived long enough to see his next birthday.

Days had passed since Peter's day, and still the billionaire felt as though it was just yesterday. He knew that the child wouldn't have cared that his present had been otherwise absent, instead content to spend the day playing with friends and family as they awaited the fabulous birthday cake. Peter didn't care for all the formal gifts he received. That was what made him special.

Tony wouldn't find another boy like him, not that he wanted to.

"What did Thor say when you talked to him?"

"Same thing as he always says! 'We can't go to Asgard, it's not safe, etc.' I'm starting to think he's scared."

"Why would he be scared? I thought him and his dad were the leaders or something like that; what could've possibly made him scared?" the billionaire understood that he couldn't exactly predict Thor's mood changes since, after their last encounter with Loki, he had been somewhat of a 'nervous Nellie.'

That was how Fury described it.

"Why would anyone be scared, Tony? There's a chance his family could be hostages or worse; it's like what we're going through with Peter…well, not exactly like that I guess. We'll be there soon enough."

Thor was in another room from the two men, but he wasn't gorging himself on treats as they were. So many transmissions had been sent without a valid response and suddenly, like he had been smacked over the head with his own hammer, it seemed as though his senses were finally returning to him. Cautiously he flicked the long dirty-blonde hair from his eyes, glaring down at the strange grey contraption that kept him in touch with his family.

"I'm rapidly losing patience!" he barked into the microphone at what he hoped was one of the Messengers, "If you do not answer me soon, I will be in Asgard by midnight tomorrow!"

Again static met his shouts, the same as it had been for the past few days. There was no soft voice that would have been his mother and no harsh bark that would signify his father. There wasn't even a snide remark in which he would have known Loki was on the other end, his behind sat firmly in a throne that didn't belong to him.

There was only silence. A deafening silence that kept the God up at night, causing worry as he thought of every excuse why Peter wouldn't be there and his parents were simply toying with him.

His blue shirt was splattered with the remnants of his beer when he finally spat, "Fine! I shall be there with the Avengers – for your sake, I should hope this lack of communication is a mistake! If you have Peter…Loki, if you have our Peter…I shall not be responsible for what my friends do to you!"

The slamming phone was heard by Bruce several flights down, sitting in his laboratory with a calming beverage in his hand. It wasn't alcohol and it wasn't some drugged water that would make him happy; it was simply a hot chocolate with marshmallows in it, topped with whipped cream that he had found on a stroll to the supermarket. It had been Peter's favourite drink when he was with them, albeit one he rarely had.

His eyes flicked up to the sound of the phone. With tentative sips he wondered what Thor was doing, although he secretly hoped that the God had finally lost his temper and they would soon be on their way to get the child back. Too long had they spent sitting on their backsides, waiting for something to happen in that lifeless tug of war game…

"At least Tony will be happy," he mused aloud to himself.


	51. Packing

Bruce's assumptions had been correct. No sooner had he finished that piping hot drink did Thor burst into the room, telling him to collect his things so that they could make a dash to the nearest spacecraft. The scientist stared at his God-like friend in disbelief for a moment, a thought in his head as to why the sudden urgency and for what reason they needed the ship, although soon enough he was shovelling his things into the nearest leather briefcase.

Tony and Steve were also packing supplies, granted most of their luggage was simply clean clothes for Peter. Whatever they brought for themselves equalled to several pieces for their child and, when the billionaire dared pack something that his boyfriend deemed inappropriate, they would have the scuffles they had had when Peter was with them.

"Hurry up boys," Natasha called when she swanned past their open door, her arms laden with what seemed like her entire wardrobe, "Thor's not going to wait forever! I thought you wanted him back?!" her voice seemed annoyed by they could hear the sentiment behind it; the agent wanted their 'ground-trooper' (as Steve called him) back as quickly as possible, and the longer they spent packing meant the longer they had to spend away from him.

The tycoon was almost joyfully when he replied, "Tell Thor he's going to wait as long as we're gonna take! We've still got the toys to pack!" his face was highlighted by a dangerous feeling whilst he spoke about the toys, like something had awoken prematurely within him and clouded his thoughts on their next moves.

Hope. Steve was wary about feeling hope at that delicate stage in their operations, despite the fact he could feel it surging very deeply in his thoughts. He wanted to feel what Tony felt so intensely, that swelling vibrancy that came with retrieving their stolen child, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Tony noticed his seemingly off mood. As they continued to put their things away and planned how they would carry them on their journey, Steve seemed content to sit on the bed whilst his boyfriend continued chatting away. The darkening light cast a shadow over his face as Tony tried to invoke some sort of emotion within him, something that would show he was as excited at seeing Peter as he was.

Hadn't they both mourned the loss of their boy? Hadn't they both lain together night after night, weeping silently into their pillows with a hope that they would have their misery ended? Did Steve not want their little alien returned to them?

"What's up?" the billionaire managed to muster through his collection of thoughts. His boyfriend looked up, a baffled expression on the chiselled details of his face. "Something's obviously the matter."

Steve couldn't bear to look into his soft face, just in case he started sobbing when he choked his reply, "I…I just don't think we should start getting our hopes up. What if something goes wrong? He might…we might…we don't know what will happen, and I don't want to start…start knowing that it's our fault and that your hopes are crushed."

Tony's features fell. For a moment he didn't know what to say, didn't know whether or not his boyfriend was actually considering the fact that Peter may have died and they might never have their child again. He wanted to scream at him for a moment; he wanted to yell at him until his voice went hoarse and he couldn't see for tears, but something stopped him.

Steve's eyes. They were glistening with the build-up of his sadness, causing sparkling tears to threaten as he gazed at his lover. It wasn't just the billionaire suffering for their loss. The leader was feeling every single stab of anger and rage that came with losing their baby, and with that came the intense sting of sorrow when he imagined never holding him again.

"Hey, hey," Tony whispered as he cupped his boyfriend's face, bringing his lips to the man's nose, "Don't cry. Pete's a tough kid, remember? He's already been kidnapped before – remember those things that took him? They wanted to kill him, Steve, and he made it back! He saved us and came back from the dead."

The leader opened his mouth to speak but Stark silenced him, "We don't know what Loki wants to do with him, I'll give you that, but we've got a pretty good idea that he'll be using Pete's powers to control Asgard. Do you think he'll hurt our little guy if he's doing that?"

There was a pause as Steve began to mull the facts over. He imagined that Loki was insane – the fact he brought the world to near destruction was enough to tell him that – but he couldn't imagine him endangering his own plans by hurting Peter. The child was the only thing capable of bringing those plans to fruition.

Their child…

"You're right. We can't let him use Pete. We have to get him back!" like a man possessed the leader began speed-packing, his strength dedicated to grabbing armfuls of clothes and shovelling it back into the small suitcase. How long were they going to be gone for?

Fury was trying to clear it with his superiors; they weren't too happy with the idea of the team disappearing off on their own mission, as if they didn't have any other responsibilities. Whatever argument he had in favour of saving Peter was demolished by another example of the world's distress, granted much of that negligence was down to themselves.

"I'm sorry, but we cannot allow for Loki to continue his assault on Asgard. We have got personal attachments with this child and if he were to die, you wouldn't be seeing Captain America or Ironman out in the field."

The looming faces barely twitched when they looked down at him, as if he were nothing but a pathetic child mewling for an extra sweet. A few of them looked at one another and again Fury was reminded of the irony – how he was leading a super-powerful team yet, those balding middle-aged men seemed to be in charge of it all.

"We can't condone your team doing this. I'm sorry Nicholas, but they're our last hope for survival when things go wrong. Peter's death will be unfortunate and heart-breaking for everyone, yet we can't allow the rest of the world to fall into chaos because of it."

"You don't give a damn if Peter dies!" the words fell out of his mouth independently; he found himself unable to control it.

"Fury, you better-"

"The Avengers are going to get our boy back before we do anything else! Do what you want to me then – fire me, reprimand me, court martial me – I don't care! We're getting the boy back!" he stalked out of the room with his head held high, even though he didn't want to think about their furious faces. He couldn't let them decide whether or not Peter would die.

It was their choice alone. Peter would at least be rescued and, if he died in their mission…that would be Fury's fault.


	52. Breathing

That night, they clambered onto one of Stark's 'emergency rockets' and directed themselves straight to Asgard, on the coordinates that Thor had so kindly given them. Tony sat back in the conference room nursing a glass of scotch as they hurtled through space, his intentions set on listening to their briefing whilst the others stayed silent.

"It's going to be tough to get by if Loki's got control of the place," Fury was saying as he pointed at some key locations in Asgard, using an old map that Thor had provided them and talking to the team with that familiar determination in his voice. With his one good eye he peered at Steve who, by that time was lost in the world of battle schematics and plans, and he wondered whether the leader would be able to take an impartial view on things.

"He's a slippery one certainly, but it's not impossible to evade his gaze," Thor interrupted whilst he rose from the comfortable leather seat, which swung under the loss of weight like it was giving a victory cry. "If we're to defeat Loki, we have to play the game by his rules. He will not be willing to give up the little spaceman; I propose we go to Peter first and retrieve him, as that way Loki will not want to attack us so quickly."

"That's if Peter wants to come with us. Way I remember it, we weren't exactly the best people to be around for a little while," Clint cast a meaningful gaze at Tony when he spoke. The archer didn't talk much but he listened quite a lot, so much so that the 'secrets' of the Tower were usually on the very tip of his tongue. He had seen Peter's discomfort.

If only he had intervened sooner.

"Pete will come! He loves us, Clint," Bruce was determined not to let thought come into the matter – it was their child on the line, not just Tony and Steve's. If he were to hate them or feel any sort of resentment, the scientist just didn't know what he would do. And to think he had tried to choose Joanna over his precious little Peter, even though he hadn't quite told her it was over…

Natasha was too quick for the men; she saw the look falling on Steve's face before it had even fallen, and was rapid in her calming response, "Don't worry about it. Peter will be ecstatic to see you two after all this time, won't he? I mean; he's a kid. They forget things all the time."

Whilst those words made Steve smile and slightly ease in his fears, they did nothing to help Tony. He could still remember his horrible childhood; his father going off to country after country, the women that flooded in when his mother was out of town, the long line of birthdays that the billionaire had 'forgotten' or simply couldn't be bothered to attend…

_Birthdays, _he thought bitterly as the team continued their planning, a hand running through his well-groomed locks, _that bastard forgot nearly all my birthdays. The one time he came he forgot how old I was, then tried to blame the butler for it! Will Pete blame us for missing his birthday?_

Although he assumed he was alone in his thoughts, he hadn't counted on his boyfriend's almost telepathic abilities. Steve instantly knew what the dark-haired man was thinking and despite everything he was going through, felt a sudden pang of fear for Stark's health. If he worried too much about what they hadn't done, they would miss all the precious moments of their son's life!

"Hey," he whispered quietly, his fingers gripping the smaller man's under the table, his smile warm as he gazed through the brilliant lighting, "You okay?"

Tony could barely muster a smile when his fingers squeezed and replied, "Yeah, I'm okay."

On the gleaming clouds of Asguard, another training session was underway. Soon after he realised his brother would be blazing towards what was rightfully his home, Loki had put Peter on harsh sessions that would surely make him prepared for the battle. It consisted of the child picking up great rocks with his magnificent powers, or wiping out huge armies of dummies with one sweep of his tiny arm. The glowing red eyes faltered with every application.

"Excellent, Osmostinos!" the demoted Prince congratulated after another in-depth session, his smile almost as warming as a familiar hot cup of chocolate, "You're certainly going to protect your Kingdom, aren't you? I couldn't have asked for a more perfect successor."

With one hand Loki stroked his 'son', admiring the glinting golden armour that he had donned and seemed to wear perfectly, although it came with the bittersweet realisation that Thor had worn it once. It seemed that Peter was a replica of everything the Avengers stood for, but Loki wouldn't let his talent be wasted in such a way.

The child's red eyes turned up to face his 'father,' and a smile fell upon his face. It was tight-lipped and strained, as if he didn't really mean the expression but felt it was a good way to put the session at rest. Beads of sweat rolled off of his head although he didn't so much as murmur a complaint, his mind fully set on the idea that the battle would be ten times harder.

"Father…" his voice was small, strained, like he hadn't spoken in a hundred years rather than a few short days. What little English he did speak had seemed to wipe out upon his mind control and yet, on the odd occasion, his rebellious spirit would allow him to speak the most prominent words in his arsenal.

"Come on guys – let's call it a night," Bruce advised after what seemed like millennia of planning, his eyes barely open as he gazed about the sleepy crew and decided on their bedtimes, "Try to get some rest before we get to Asguard. It'll probably do you some good to sleep, Tony."

His meaningful words were expressed in fear, since they all knew that the billionaire had neglected sleep in favour of planning. Perhaps now they were on their way and hurtling through the vast emptiness of space, Stark could find some peace amongst the stars.

"He's right," Steve whispered whilst everyone else got up, "You've got to get some rest. We can't save Peter if you're dead on your feet, can we?" with a smile the leader managed to haul his boyfriend to his feet, granted the steps towards their bedroom were shaky and unrefined. It was as if the mention of sleep had made the billionaire realise just how exhausted he was, so much so that he had to lean against the solid wooden door to catch his breath. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah; 'course I am," he lied through his gritted teeth, "Nothing's wrong."

"Have you changed the arc reactor?"

"Hm? Oh – yeah, of course I have!" Steve's eyes suddenly widened as he looked at his boyfriend, the realisation hitting him as hard as a ton bricks.

"TONY! You know you could die if you don't change it! Why haven't you?!"

"I…I…I kept forgetting," panting hard, Tony tried to steady himself against Steve whilst he led him into his room, "I was too bu-busy thinking about Pete. I couldn't get round…round to it…so I said I'd do it…later…later didn't come…til…"

"Have you got another one on board?" Steve already knew the answer, so it was no surprise when Tony shook his head. It didn't mean that he wasn't terrified.

"You could die!"

"I'll be okay! Just…just take me to bed…we've got to get Peter…"

What use would a dead man be to the boy?


	53. Dreams

Tony was dreaming. It had been a while since he allowed himself to dream, to think about the world he wanted to live in and the people he wanted to inhabit it. There were only a few people he definitely needed in his life – his Avengers, his Steve and his Peter, the main components to his strangely misshapen family.

"Here you go Pete, open wide," he found himself spoon feeding the child he adored so much, laughing as the beige mush spread itself over his nose and managed to find its way into his neatly groomed locks. The white and black style of the kitchen slowly faded in around them but Tony didn't care; he didn't even notice when the other team members washed into the room, their faces stretched in huge smiles.

Thor tapped a merry Asgardian tune on the table as he bleated out a song, "_In the blue high chair sitting happily, is our sweet little spaceman and his metal man Daddy."_

"Hey!" Steve ran a hand through his hair with a glow about him, "You're forgetting about me!"

"_And the leader of the team, whose needs are bigger than me!"_

The smile he wore fell into a sarcastic nose-wrinkle as he threw Peter's soft toy, making it fly across the table and hit the God square in the nose. If it were some other object Thor probably would have made a fuss about it, although nothing bad could have come from throwing an expensive teddy bear.

Steve's huge arm fell across Tony's shoulders, his eyes on their child who kicked playfully in his high chair like a bull. A familiar blue gaze bore into the side of the billionaire's head as he continued spoon-feeding their child, granted it didn't waver when he waved his free hand.

That's when Tony caught the glint of gold. He looked up for a moment, wondering whether it had been Steve's luscious locks or perhaps a new utensil, when he felt cool metal seem to suddenly shape around his ring finger. It was a beautiful ring that sat there now, with a glinting diamond that sat at the top and a never-ending atmosphere of love circulating around it.

"What's up sweetheart?" the soldier said with a hint of concern in his voice though everyone else took no notice. He lowered the volume of their talking as Peter glanced upwards, probably with a thought that the child didn't need to hear their affectionate tone towards each other. "You're looking a bit confused."

"Why the Hell am I wearing a ring?!" his voice was also quiet, yet there was a surprising amount of squeaking in there. Steve's face transcended into that heart-warming smile that Tony had fallen in love with, taking the man's hand in his like there was some story he needed to tell.

"That's what a couple does when they're married, Tony," he laughed softly into the billionaire's ear, which caused his lips to dislodge some of the neat cut curls, "Remember? It's supposed to signify unity and love – something to 'bond us together,' but you don't believe in that jazz."

It was then that the scene suddenly disappeared. There was no artistic melting away, no chance for Tony to say goodbye to his family as they simply vanished into thin air, like they hadn't really been there and the tycoon was just going mad with loneliness. He felt himself falling in the absence of a chair; falling through the blackness of time and space as he screamed, although no one would come to his rescue.

"Peter! Steve!" he cried as his legs floated on the non-existent breeze and he continued to drop, "Peter! Steve! Save me!"

"Tony? Tony, wake up! Tony! Wake up right now!" Steve was furiously shaking his boyfriend in their room, his steely blue gaze alight with fear whilst he tried to awaken his screaming lover. The designer bed's memory foam mattress shaped around his legs but he didn't care, and didn't so much as notice when Tony was screaming so loudly.

"Save me! SAVE ME!" cried the billionaire through his sleepy tears, "Steve! Please!"

"Anthony Stark, wake up right NOW!"

Chocolate brown eyes suddenly sprang open. Tony came tumbling out of the world of fear to find himself in a designer bed, surrounded by the comfortable luxury duvet that kept him so warm…and Steve's arms. He was safe.

The building tears choked his voice as he replied, "Oh…I'm sorry…did I wake you up, Steve? Go back…back to sleep." His arc reactor seemed to whirr slightly as Steve closed the distance between them, planting a soft kiss on his lips that seemed to send fireworks through his dark mind.

"Do you really think I can sleep after that? Jeez, you genius-types can be really dumb sometimes," the soldier's hand brushed lightly against his boyfriend's head in an effort to comfort him, despite the fact he could hear the faint grumblings of Bruce in another room. He would be surprised if those shouts hadn't woken up the entire team – it was a wonder Fury hadn't come in armed with a gun, prepared to attack whatever intruder had invaded their bedroom.

But Tony wasn't content with his answer, "You need to sleep, Steve. So do I. We'll need our energy when we get to Asgard, won't we?" it was as if he were looking for confirmation, like he needed to be told they were expecting a big battle and couldn't just simply go and retrieve their boy. Steve didn't want to be the one to tell him about their grim situation. It caused tears to prick his eyes when he thought about the danger Peter was in, how they couldn't help him as quickly as he would have liked.

"Yeah, we'll need our energy."

"Then go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you up."

The billionaire was just about to close his eyes again when Steve grabbed his arm. He looked up, furious that the soldier dared try and stop him sleeping when he felt a soft pair of lips against his, instantly easing his tensed shoulders in a matter of seconds. The room melted into the back of the mind as he imagined being with Steve for the rest of his life, the thought of the dream-marriage in his mind whilst they worked on each other.

"He's going to be alright, Tony. What was your dream about?"

Tony's eyes watered, "It was about…about the team."

"It'll be back to normal soon enough. I know how much you're hurting sweetheart – I'm hurting too – but we've got to keep our heads together. Who knows what state Pete will be in when we see him?"

He could only muster a nod in reply, "Right, then we both better get back to sleep. Come here." Like a protective blanket Steve wrapped his arms around Tony, giving him a squeeze to confirm they would be sleeping that way. It was calming for the billionaire to know his beloved boyfriend was there with him, determined to see every step of their mission out to the best possible scenario. He would keep him sane enough.

But what state would they find their little Peter in?


	54. Getting There

By the time they had reached Asgard, Tony was fit to burst with excitement. He wanted to immediately rush out and start the search for Peter, not caring whether there was a huge centaur in the way or a massive construction worthy of museum-ship. They had spent too long in that ship; it was time that they got what they came for.

"Hold up big guy," Steve said as he made a bolt for the door, grabbing him by his neatly pressed scruff before he could disappear into the unknown, "We've got to try and scope out the area first, remember? We might find ourselves in trouble if you charge in."

Though his words held some merit to them, the billionaire didn't want to hear. He wanted to get out there and start looking for his precious boy – too much time had been spent apart and now, with it sitting so perfectly in sight, he couldn't think of anything else but finding Peter and going home.

"Fine," he eventually growled to make his boyfriend let go, despite the fact he was prepared to leave the ship all by himself if he had to. He turned to face the weary expressions of all his teammates, the ones who had been up all night worrying to themselves, and wondered whether or not they were fit enough to go into the imminent battle. No one wanted to endanger little Peter after all, especially when his life hung in the precarious balance…

Steve settled him down in one of the comfortable leather massage-chairs, moving himself into the next one as everyone took their seats. It was time for their final meeting and, when the holographic projector hummed with energy, Tony could hardly stand to look at the little face flickering on screen.

Peter.

"We know why we're here, guys," Fury droned for what seemed like the thousandth time, his eyes fixated on the child's features in front, "To secure Pete from Loki, we've got to make sure that we're not out of our depth. God knows what that madman's done to Asgard-"

He paused for a moment, unsure of how Thor was taking the idea of his home being destroyed. As the God had usually spoken so fondly of the grand structures and thousands of people, it was only right that Fury was trying to choose his words carefully, so as not to upset him whilst they pondered on that home being totalled. Either that, or the idea that Loki had enthralled everyone under a harsh and unjust dictatorship.

Which option would they rather have?

"Continue," Thor eventually muttered, waving a huge hand as he tried to come to terms with the thought. He hadn't heard his father's voice in many days – it seemed as though he had already toyed with the idea of his family being dead, killed at the hands of a man he had once played with.

Fury took a minute to let the information sink in, then continued with the same determination lining his voice, "We can't rule out that Peter won't be on his side, so be on your guard for his powers. If he attacks you…do what you feel is right, but try to limit the damage as much as humanly possible. He's only a boy."

Tony wanted to scream. He wanted to shout at them that they couldn't attack him, that he wouldn't possibly be on Loki's side as the man was completely insane, yet no words dared to crawl out of his throat. Casting a sideways glance at Steve, he realised that the speech hadn't just affected him, but rather it had sunk into the skulls of everyone present and made them feel sick to their stomachs.

Imagine attacking someone they loved? Attacking someone that had been so innocently playing in their rooms before, as if he were the conductor of all things good and played his concerts to keep their spirits high. Faintly they could recall a time some months ago, when the child had built his cities in an attempt to stave off boredom.

"Are we all clear with the plan?"

"What plan? We haven't discussed any plan," Steve pointed out indignantly with his arms crossed, his broad chest displaying that familiar star sign as he stared at his friend, "You've just basically told us to charge in carefully. That's not a plan, Fury."

"It's my nephew on the line here, and your son!" his retort was firm yet somehow light, like he was trying to make the leader see sense through his cloud of misery. Quickly Captain America understood, and took over in a fashion that Tony had always admired.

He stood from his seat and circled the polished table silently, his footsteps softly crunching on the cream carpet below as he glanced around the room. It had been painted to resemble something he'd seen on a crime show once, like it was made of shining mahogany rather than its cold, metal casing.

It seemed as though he had switched off for a moment, idly looking at the appearance of the ship as if nothing had happened, although soon he turned with a fierce look in his steely blue eyes, "We've got to make sure nothing's going to stop us from getting to Pete. Hawkeye, I want you to stay on top of the ship and watch us. Make sure nothing's gonna get near us when we're moving."

"Understood."

"Widow, I want you and Fury to scope out the area while we're on our way to the palace – Thor, you're going to be at the head of the team with Hulk, since you know the landscape more and you're both the strongest."

He was rewarded with a nod from the God and scientist, smiling when they saw the familiar aspects of Steve that had been hidden for a while. His natural skills were coming to play; Tony couldn't deny that it was insufferably attractive, despite the fact he had told himself he loved Steve's blonde locks more than his leadership skills.

Then the leader turned to face his boyfriend, a smile stretched on his lips as they realised what those plans meant. Peter would soon be in their arms again, tucked away where he couldn't be stolen.

"Stark," he addressed him formally in light of their surroundings, although he wanted to call him that nickname 'sweetheart,' "You keep near me as long as you can. Get the suit, too. We don't know what sort of trouble we're going to find out there."

He nodded in reply and idly twiddled his thumbs, waiting for the signal that they could finally go out and start looking. Steve's blue gaze fell about the room once more before he smiled, content with what he had said.

"Let's go get our boy back."


	55. Seeing My Boy

Peter sat on the palace's balcony, perched on the gleaming gold banister as he stared at the invading ship. He could see the Earthly subtleness of it, how it seemed like something made out of tin when in reality it was tough metal, yet he couldn't begin to imagine how it stayed on course. Loki had tried to brainwash him that all humans were lazy and their minds easily captivated, so the Avengers would have never made it to Asgard in the first place.

Seems as though he was wrong. It didn't surprise the child really – deep within that tesseract-induced control, resonating inside him with the force of ten hundred men, was Peter, and he knew that his fathers would go to Hell and back just to rescue him.

"Prepare yourself, Osmostinos," Loki said as he glided past the child, his arms laden with shining green scale armour and his horned crown looking as though it had been modified, "There's not much chance we'll win if you're not prepared, is there?" with that he was off, disappearing into that radiant castle that had somewhat dulled over their residence.

Peter sighed, his eyes flickering whilst they continued to stare at the ship. He had a strange feeling about it, like he had seen it before; if Loki weren't so insistent that those heroes were truly villains, intent on his capture and determined to make him walk a pointless path, he would have claimed that the inhabitants weren't as violent as he thought. Perhaps there was some noble creature on board, one that had a heart of gold rather than a mind set for battle?

With an idle boredom that had long set within his bones, the child turned to what had been his only playthings – broken, serrated metal and a few of Thor's old toys, granted he didn't know his uncle's boyhood had revolved around those things. He didn't care much for their limp structure and their oddly proportioned body parts, how the dolls seemed duller than dishwater as their lifeless black eyes stared up at him, but there wasn't any better option for him. His 'father' would have been furious if he heard about his discontent. He wouldn't want to end up like the other residents.

The battle horn sounded when he gathered up the toys and put them in a conveniently placed chest, yet he didn't immediately turn for the fight. He could do it another time, when he was content to put up with such things rather than simply go along with them.

His powers allowed him to fly, and he used them rarely. Today he felt the need; he lifted himself from the floor just enough to peak out at the ship again, noticing that its sleek design had opened somewhat. A curious face poked itself from the newly revealed entrance, eyes beady as this new man gazed about and, when he was content with the surroundings, pulled himself from the ship, landing on its arched head with what seemed like a bow made of ebony.

"Hm?" his glowing red eyes locked onto that man as his streaked hair swished in his face, as if it had a mind of its own whilst he gazed at him. He seemed innocent enough – the only offending weapon was a bow, and Peter could deflect anything of arrow size without a problem.

It was then that the rest of the aliens came out. A massive green thing erupted from the ship like an overgrown pea bursting out of its pod, whilst behind him wandered a man wearing armour and another one in bright blue tights. He was also donned with what seemed like stars; Peter had admired the stars once, back when Loki allowed it and the child wasn't constantly using his powers.

Then came an alien that he paused at. He wore a yellow and red suit that seemed to fire with energy, something similar to Peter's own strength as he darted about the rainbow-coloured bridge, searching for something that he couldn't quite find. The child targeted his hearing more closely since, upon his mind-control, he realised that he could use his powers to sharpen all his senses.

"Come on guys, it's safe enough!"

"Hang on a minute! Hawkeye hasn't given us the all clear yet; for all we know, Loki's just got wise to us because of your screaming!"

"Who cares if he has?! Where's my boy?!" the metal-man zoomed through the very first residents in what seemed like a flash, as if he were something similar to a God rather than a man in a suit. Why did it seem so familiar? Peter could feel a niggling irritation in the back of his head, telling him that he knew those men and they were not evil.

Who was the boy they were talking about?

"There's no one here! Everything…everything seems to be…different," the huge man said as he thundered through the first houses, his arm swinging a massive hammer and his hair flapping wildly around his head. That must have been the infamous Thor – he didn't look like he would knock Peter down with one struck, and he didn't seem to be the sort who would start a fight without reason.

The child's fingers twitched with anxiety. Did he really want to fight them? They weren't the monsters that Loki depicted, with gargantuan teeth and ready to attack anything that would wander in their path.

But he had a job to do. With great struggle he lifted himself from the balcony, his tiny feet dangling over a hundred foot drop as he stretched his arms out to the sides. His voice was thundering when he addressed the men; Tony looked up at the sound of his boy's voice, ecstatic that the silence had finally ended between them and at last they were near one another, but the dream reunion he had in mind wouldn't be fulfilled.

He noticed it immediately; the red eyes glaring down at them from an airborne pedestal, the fury that seemed to radiate from his very bones, the powers that all the team feared would one day grow out of control. It was all there. His precious boy had fallen victim to the energy that rested in him, at least from what Tony could see.

"You bad," he shouted with the childish twinges, which caused a smirk to fall on Clint's face as he pointed the arrows upwards, "You invade As-Gourd. We fight. We win!"

Tony's arc reactor faltered. His heartbeat rising fast, he couldn't imagine having to fight one of the only people he would willingly die for. Steve called his name over the din of his inner voice, as if it were an angel of reason through a minefield of thought.

"He's being mind controlled! It's not our son right now Tony," his reminder served as the only reasonable explanation, and made his shoulders relax slightly as he gazed up at his son, "We have to get him down! We need to save him!"

Peter gestured one small arm and waved it in front of him – an idle action that seemed so innocent. But suddenly the team felt a terrifying force crashing against them, forcing them to be thrown to the other side and quickly latch on to the Bifrost Bridge with all their might. Steve pulled himself up, his eyes hurt when he looked at the little boy he loved.

"Fight, fight!" he shouted in that tiny voice, the very voice that his fathers adored and the team had longed to hear, "Time fight! You, me, team! Loki!"

And so started a battle that they would never forget.


	56. To Save my Boy

Peter's assaults were violent. His blood red eyes would light up whenever he smashed the energy over them, causing the team to blow apart after each and every attack. Tony could barely stand up when his son threw him to the side again, like he was nothing but a ragdoll in need of placing.

"Don't!" the billionaire screamed at Hawkeye as he pulled back an arrow, it's perfectly sharpened tip aimed for the child's head, "You'll kill him!" as if he had just realised that Peter wasn't their enemy he dropped the bow, a dumbstruck look upon his face when he gazed up at the boy.

Tony looked up again. His son still dangled over that hundred foot drop, surrounded by a shield of pure energy whilst he easily used his powers, the ones that he had tried to stop the child from training up. What if he hurt himself?! What if he fainted and started to drop like a meteorite, flying from the sky at a hundred miles an hour as the world around them seemed to fade.

It was then that an idea struck his head. Amongst the chaos of his team struggling for a foothold, Tony suddenly felt as though everything was making sense. He saw not his son flying above them and attacking their weakened defences but instead Osmostinos; the temperamental and energised being that rested within Peter, waiting for its chance to attack.

"Pete! You've got to listen to me!" he screamed above the din of assaults. The child didn't even look at him as he smashed another tentacle of energy over them, his tiny arms like whips whilst he glared down at the offending billionaire. Still that thought niggled in his skull – who was that man? Why did he seem to care so much for the child's wellbeing, when it was his father Loki's job to do something so affectionate?

To silence him he attacked again, this time with a whip of the harshest energy in his arsenal. Sweat broke on his forehead whilst he continued the fight, yet he didn't dare stop for fear of Loki's wrath.

Tony wasn't about to give up so easily, "You can fight us as much as you want; we won't fight back!" he was thrown from the house again, although it was weaker than his other assaults. The suit blared with warnings as its resources began to deplete, already exhausted from the fight that seemed so one-sided.

Peter faltered for a moment. Slowly he descended, his arms still outstretched whilst he held back the other team members, his eyes glaring into the chocolate brown depths of Tony's as he breathed a harsh reply.

"Humans bad. Loki save from bad world. I am power. I am…" the mind control caused a sharp twinge to shred through the child's head and forced him to howl in pain; a howl that made Steve's heart ache whilst he watched the scene play out in front of him.

All of that gleaming gold and magic, yet they couldn't make their wildest dream come true. They couldn't save their child in a place that looked like paradise, the place that Thor had spoken so fondly of and tried to make them see as a majestic eagle rising above Earth. The floating constructions weren't enough to make it Heaven.

"You're not evil Pete! You're a bright little boy with a heart of gold – you're my son, not Loki's!" Tony was thrown to the side so violently that his head smashed against the nearest marble column, sending his vision momentarily black as he tried to figure out what was going on.

"Tony!" Steve's voice was the angel in the darkness, yet not one loud enough to pull the billionaire out. He felt his suit twisting to someone's hands whilst his eyesight began to blurrily return although, by that point, there was so much fire that he couldn't tell what was man and what was thing.

But he didn't want to go. Whoever was dragging him along the Bifrost Bridge didn't want him in that fight anymore, and he wasn't prepared to leave his son fighting the Avengers. He needed to get through to him.

"Get off me!"

"Tony, you'll die if he keeps attacking you!"

"Get off me!" he pushed the hands away and staggered towards the fight again, his eyes rolling as he tried to see sense through the blurred chaos, "I've got to…got to get to Pete…he needs to hear my voice!"

But Peter was far away by that point. His attacks were as vicious as the day was long whilst his powers seemed to be supercharged, granted they were simply more equipped to fight against people he knew. The child was cowering within his mind – a victim of the Tesseract's control, and one who wanted to find the arms of his true family again.

"PETE!" Osmostinos looked down with that sparking expression in his eyes, like he had just seen a heartless villain rather than the nauseous face of his father, "You're a good boy! You're my son! Remember when I'd take you up to your bedroom and you'd look at the moon?" his words were rewarded by a sharp slap across his face, one that sent him flying and forced him to rethink his methods, "The park? Do you remember playing with me and Captain Daddy?"

"SILENCE!" the language was different; Tony realised that if he didn't act fast, he could lose his son to the horrifying presence of the Tesseract, to the creature that he both feared and nurtured in his home.

That was when he fell to his most drastic statement, "Do you remember when I slapped you? When I hit you, Pete? Do you remember that?"

The child flinched. Energy sparked from his body like fireworks as he looked down, his attacks silenced for what seemed like eternity. He took the opportunity to act.

"I shouldn't have hit you, and I didn't deserve to lay a hand on you after what you did! I called you evil…I was wrong, Pete. I was wrong to call you that. You're not evil! Please just let me make amends, properly this time – let me be the daddy you deserve!"

There was more silence. Steve felt a tear build up in his eyes as he gazed at his boyfriend; a seemingly broken man in a suit that had been scratched, pleading with his son to return and forgive them. Some things wouldn't have been fixed by a sorry, but they could make slow progress towards the future.

Peter cocked his head to one side, the blue influence sapping from his bones whilst he allowed himself to fall to the ground. It was a slow descent but still, it was enough to make Tony feel better.

"Please Pete, come home. We love you so much."

The red disappeared from his eyes. He closed them as they turned from blue to dark green and dropped from the sky, a bullet in the suddenly still air.

But the billionaire was fast. He charged up to meet the child mid-descent and caught him, tears in his eyes as he gazed down at something he never thought he'd see again. The fire still raged around them but he didn't care; he had his baby back, and nothing mattered so long as they were together. Steve wiped his eyes whilst he looked at the sight.

"Hands. Off. My. Boy." They looked to see the horned crown of Loki in front of them, with his Tesseract in hand like a stick of glowing blue. Hulk's rage didn't subside when he remembered their last encounter, charging towards him with his terrifying strength as everyone else seemed to go in slow motion.

"You bastard!" Tony screamed, "You've got nowhere to hide now; you took my son! We'll kill you!"


	57. Click

Loki smiled mischievously as the men charged towards him. His eyes flashed once and instantly he was pulled into the past, a time when he had been content to sit in a small room stuffed with things he would never use.

For hours he had sat in that room, plucking away at the layers of Peter's supposed 'birthday present,' learning exactly what made it so special and how he could use it to his advantage. The greying wallpaper clung hopelessly like a sloth in its tree, the thin strands of glue barely enough to keep them in place as he paid little attention to it. He was content to stay on that splintered chair and work on that toothpick-built desk he had found, although he would have been more satisfied with something made of oak or ash.

The red and yellow suit slowly unravelled in front of him, and with it came the secrets. They tumbled out as if begging to be revealed, to be used to exploit their master in a way that was almost villainous yet, somehow, still wound up tightly in all those still gears and mechanisms. Loki's maddened face drifted past each neatly cropped joining like he was a God watching his people, granted he'd no honour in looking at such a primitive thing.

_What use does Osmostinos have for this?_ He had wondered whilst carefully disconnecting a fuse, _the child's not one for suits, and his skills far outweigh that of Anthony Stark's. Perhaps the idiot's trying to make him more like a human, or more like him? What a horrifying thought!_

The whirring of what seemed like energy drew his attention away, snatching it up as if it were a baby and he were the clucking mother hen. With fingers slicked with oil he inspected it, opened it, despite the fact he knew whatever energy source it had would be undeveloped compared to his machines. Tony would pay for his theft.

The Avengers would pay for what they did to Loki. He would make sure of that. Whether he had to use that innocent child and exploit every fatherly emotion within the team, he didn't care. He just wanted to redeem himself.

"Ah!" he jumped, if only for the fact the suit suddenly sparked and shuddered at his touch. What seemed like a fountain poured out in electricity, bathing his pale complexion in a flood of light as he stared at the reaction.

Perhaps it was just a mistake? He didn't mean for something so odd to happen – there wasn't much to go wrong when he was just inspecting the thing, granted he couldn't deny that it was a most interesting discovery. Was that the flight rockets that he had just touched? If he could only manipulate them, probe them until he found some method of blocking or even severing the connection, maybe he would be able to halt the flight mid-launch?

So he had worked. For hours, days even, he used his rudimentary tools to pick apart the sophisticated launch rockets, his brain working nonstop to find out how he could destroy Tony's machines right out from under him and finally beat the accursed Avengers. They deserved everything he did to them by that point.

Back in the chaos of what was happening, Tony was holding his precious son to his chest as he glared down at Loki, with such venom in his eyes that it seemed almost unjust. How could someone have taken a child from its father, especially when that child had shown some unique attachments? How could he have used a breaking home to captivate the unsuspecting Peter? For what reason had he stolen the billionaire's son?

Fire raged around them, but for Tony there was nothing except his boy. Nothing mattered but that tiny little life-form in his arms, the one that invoked such unconditional love in him and made his relationship with Steve all that more important. He never wanted to be parted from him again.

And he would do everything to make sure it didn't happen.

Hulk continued to smash towards Loki, destroying every pointless construction and once-proud home that lined the streets. The fire flamed around his fists as he pummelled everything to the ground, his eyes aflame when they locked onto Loki's and, for the most part, spied what he was going to kill.

The demoted prince pulled out a strange rectangular thing from his outfit, something that had been so cosily slotted between the jade green fabric that he had barely remembered it was there. Tony's eyes bugged from his head when he saw it; how the Hell had Loki made one of them?

It wasn't until the billionaire shouted that Hulk tried to twist himself, as if the rage that built in that creature could be subsided with the brunt of Bruce's will, ricocheting off the last street and totalling three houses on the other side. Tony could only glare at Loki as he pointed the object at him, a grin so evil on his face that it was sickening.

"Return Osmostinos and I'll consider letting you go," he muttered menacingly.

"Yeah? Go to Hell, Loki."

"We wouldn't want me to click this button now, would we?"

Steve's eyes stayed locked onto Loki as he called up to his boyfriend, his mind set on the idea that he would escape as soon as they weren't looking, "What is it? What's he got?"

"It's a shutoff switch," he explained whilst cuddling the sleeping child to his chest, a vain attempt to keep him shielded from that horrifying situation and the destruction they had caused, "If he activates it, the suit will be completely useless. I'm not going to be able to fight him."

"And you'll all be helpless to save Osmostinos!" Loki cackled again as if he was in the right, as if he were the true hero in that mess and the little boy's world was dependent on him. He could provide the better life! He was sure of it.

Charging over the Bifrost Bridge came the team, led by Steve as he realised the danger to his little boy. Tony flew beside them with the child wrapped up in his arms, tempted to pass it to one of the others although in light of things, holding him so tightly that he didn't think he'd be able to let go.

"We'll kill you before you take Peter!"

Loki smiled, and aimed the object. He held it up with a confidence that seemed uncouth, his smile so disgusting that it would have made babies cry. With the tip of his finger he brushed the switch and, chuckling under his breath, watched as the men grew closer and closer to him.

'Click.'


	58. Reunited

The object made a noise, but that was it. Loki, flustered by the fact his ingenious plan had just taken a horrifying turn, pressed again and again whilst the team charged up towards him, their eyes alight with rage as they realised that he was suddenly defenceless. The Tesseract tumbled to the floor whilst Loki struggled with his switch, tearing at the casing as if there were some little elf inside toying with him.

"It's equipped to shut down _Peter's suit,"_ Tony hissed in realisation although they didn't slow down, since it seemed that their fatherly rage had built up to that exact moment and the craving for vengeance had settled in, "With the restrictions on flight and the modifications for his powers. It can't do anything to me!" with that he sped up, defying the laws of safe flying so that he could finally get at the mastermind's throat, vying for blood as the child faintly stirred in his arms.

The green-clad man screamed as he saw the suit hurtling towards him. He cowered where he stood, a broken man with broken dreams – a man who, by every right and textbook example, had been failed by his parents and pushed aside in favour of his brother, forced into the shadows whilst Thor took all the glory. His black hair swished neatly into his eyes like he was trying to protect them, though nothing could stop his mind counting down his final moments.

But that wasn't his final hour. Just as Tony got in grabbing distance of Loki he stopped, forced back by an invisible energy that no one had anticipated, his teeth bared as he continued slamming into the force-field.

Steve was the first to comment on it, granted they had only arrived in time to see the billionaire thrusting himself against an unseen wall. "What're you doing? Stop playing games and get Loki!" he screamed over the din of rage, Hulk soon joining his friend in their efforts to apprehend the mastermind.

"I'm trying! There's something in the way!" Tony was hopelessly thrashing against the force when he caught sight of Peter, which quickly drew his attention away from the on-impact glowing wall, "Hey…Pete's awake!"

The child's eyes had fluttered open just in time for him to understand what was happening. Out of instinct he had formed the wall protecting Loki, and out of principle he kept it up against his father's attacks. Blood-red seeped through the crack in his eyelids, just enough for the billionaire to see and realise he was doing, yet not quite enough to make him seem fully awake.

Tony's rockets slowed down on his feet, bringing him to the ground as he softly stroked his son's soft cheek, "What're you doing, Pete? Stop using your powers son; you're not strong enough to do that right now, okay? Please stop using them. You'll make yourself sick."

But no matter how much pleading he did, the child wouldn't give in. He used every last sap of energy that still lined his unearthly bones, his efforts manifesting themselves as a slowly growing wall that shielded his captor and kept him away from their furious hands. Steve soon joined his boyfriend's side to stare into Peter's eyes, yet he couldn't explain why the child did it either.

"Peter Stark-Rogers, you have to stop using those powers," the American hero's voice was firm when he spoke yet it trembled with fear, like he thought that his son's powers would be turned on him if he said something the wrong way, "You've got to rest up now. If you don't rest right this minute, it's an early bedtime on the ship! And I mean that!" his threats fell on deaf ears. Peter continued to defend his kidnapper like some twisted fairy-tale story, no matter the threats that his father gave him or the amount of bribes he offered.

Finally, Loki understood what he was doing. It took a little while longer for the team to understand and for a while they kept silent, just so that the raging green monster would calm himself.

Bruce slowly morphed back to himself on the floor, his anger spent on the shield as the team clustered around Tony, "Why are you protecting him? He's a madman Pete – he'd have killed any one of us to get to you."

It was then that Peter gasped and found the energy to speak, albeit his voice was far weaker than normal, "We heroes. Heroes mercy…mercy Loki, and mercy Daddy. For-give to live on Earth. Heart strong than sword."

His hand pressed against Tony's warming face and he smiled that familiar smile, the one that set the billionaire's mind running through plans on how to make him happy, the one that Steve adored making breakfast for on a rainy winter morning, the one that sent the team away on another mission strong. It was his power that they hadn't realised – it was the power that made their spirits high and kept their morale even higher, helping them to protect the world that he now inhabited. He was the face they were protecting rather than the voiceless mass of the populace.

He gave them a reason to fight.

"He's right. Thor, take your brother and go put him somewhere safe. Fury, when Bruce's awake I want you guys to go looking for survivors, and take Clint with you to be safe. Natasha, you better stay with me and Tony in case we run into more trouble," Steve turned to his boyfriend and his son, his eyes sparkling with tears as he pressed a gloved hand to the back of the child's head.

Peter's eyes had fluttered shut and he had collapsed into the warm abyss of sleep, however his father couldn't help wondering whether or not he was comfortable enough. Steve's mind was wandering over the interior of their ship; was it suitable enough for the child? Was everything baby-proofed and all the dangerous equipment high up? He couldn't help but worry over the little details.

"We better get him into bed." The American hero was pulled out of his thoughts by Tony's voice, granted he couldn't have been more grateful as his eyes flickered up to meet his chocolate brown gaze, "He's probably exhausted. He'll want to sleep in a proper bed for a while, don't you think?"

So they went back inside the ship, taking care with the precious bundle they had been parted from. Like babysitters they took extra precaution with him, even to the point where they were fluffing up their bed's pillows and making sure that the duvet was cosy enough to cuddle into – they were careful to make sure there was no wicked draft sneaking into the room either. The air conditioner had been up to some pesky business.

Tony rubbed the boy's cheek whilst Steve continued to tuck him in, and found himself with a smile stretched on his features. He glanced up at his boyfriend with love in his eyes.

"We've finally got him back!" his whisper was almost inaudible, so quiet that Steve had to strain his ears to hear, "He's back with us, for good this time. We can fix all our mistakes…I can fix everything I did. We've got our boy back." With tears in his eyes, the billionaire pressed his forehead to his son's and kissed one forlorn lock in his eyes, reminding himself to book a haircut when they got back to Earth. Life couldn't wait for their happy reunion.

And as Steve pressed his warm hand on the Tony's back, smiling down at their son with that air of fatherly affection he normally had whilst the world around them faded, the tycoon's life was finally stitching back together.


	59. What the Heart Wants

Steve was cradling Peter in their room whilst everyone else went about their jobs, the child's resting head fit snugly on his bicep and his eyes still shut to the world. It was remarkable that Tony had left them alone for a moment – the billionaire thought his time was better spent locking Loki up, and his boyfriend wasn't going to stop an extra pair of hands on the job. It was about time that maniac felt the consequences of his actions.

"You're so beautiful little man," he whispered to his son, despite the clichéd stupidity he could feel from the statement. Of course the leader felt that his son was beautiful; he loved him, every bit of him, leading to a rather biased claim given by a rather biased man. He didn't care though.

Peter's eyes flickered in the dim lighting. His mouth stayed firmly shut as he rolled his head to the side, his pale cheek on full show whilst he let out a little muffled snore against his father's arm. The blue fabric of his suit barely moved but Steve didn't mind, didn't let any other emotion show but love when he gazed at the tiny boy.

"Still asleep?" he looked up to see Tony sauntering into the room, his eyes glimmering with pride as he gazed at his peculiar family, "He must be exhausted."

"Or he's turning into you Tony, and sleeping for twelve hours a day," the lopsided grin on Steve's face was a rarity – Stark remembered when he'd first seen that grin, all that time ago after the Chitauri invasion. He had looked up from his unconsciousness and caught a glimpse of it on the leader's face, just a trace of that same happiness and relief he felt whilst holding their rescued son, before it had been replaced by that cool demeanour expected of the Avengers.

But Tony had to respond to his off-hand comment, "I do _not _sleep that long most nights! Usually, you're nagging at me to come to bed." They laughed together, a painfully overdue laugh that had been put-off in light of their struggles. It was liberating to feel the throaty rumble starting up within his chest, trying to suppress his giggles as he gazed at the man holding young Peter.

The black and white bed groaned under his weight when he sat down, although soon it simply moulded to his form and accepted the extra mass. Tony's hand sculpted the fine details of Peter's cheek in silence for a moment, no need for more words in their unspoken relief, yet soon he felt that niggling reason why he'd come back from the job. He remembered how he had spoken to Thor about his thoughts and how, without missing a beat, the God had clapped a hand over his back before proclaiming good news. He couldn't back out. It was just a shame that they didn't have a more romantic setting.

"Let's get married."

The words fell out like a ton of bricks from the back of a lorry, and hit Steve like the poor car trailing behind. Immediately his steely blue eyes were on Tony, searching for a hint of his usual sarcastic nature or a trace that it was a joke, before he suddenly realised that his boyfriend had been serious.

A proposal? From Anthony Stark? He must have been sleeping or…or something worse. Had he died in that confrontation between them and Peter?

"What?"

Tony's eyes glimmered with hope as he smiled at his boyfriend, brushing his free hand against the familiar smooth skin of his cheek, "I asked you to marry me, Steve."

"…Why?"

"Because I want the tax break," his sarcastic reply caused a blush of scarlet to the hero's cheek, so intense that it could have been a warning flare, "Because I love you Steve, and I want to show you how committed I am. We have a son and we live together; what's the downside of making things official?"

"But you don't get married – you're Anthony Stark!" it was that childish stumbling that Tony loved about his boyfriend, that innocent example of the past that he clung to even when he was moving on from it.

"I don't have a steady boyfriend or a son either, but look how that's worked out," again Tony brushed their slumbering boy's face, his smile so wide that it seemed like it would stretch from the contours and become a separate being, "I love you Steve Rogers. I want you to be my husband. I want to be your husband."

The American hero couldn't think straight. Sweat broke free from his forehead as he gazed at both his boyfriend and his son, realising that his whole life had been working up to that moment. The serum, the ice, the Chitauri invasion, meeting Peter – every drop of what made him an Avenger had also worked to make him a part of Tony's life, and he couldn't help but feel liberation at the conclusion of his journey.

"Yes," he beamed with the pride of a newly-uniformed soldier, "I'll marry you, Tony."

Further from that happy scene, Thor was locking up his brother. He took care in making sure each mechanism was firmly fitted, each bar was sturdy in their steel and there wasn't any logical way the dishonoured prince could escape, save the work of an inside job. With his dusty blonde locks brushed out of his eyes he worked, his tongue out between his lips as he gazed at the deadbolt.

"We found your people," the familiarly gruff voice of Fury called down the stairs, "They're asleep under the castle; looks like some sort of weird spell. We're searching up on it now." Just as quickly as he'd turned up he was gone, off to help his friends in their rousing of the Asgardians and leaving Thor alone with his brother. The God could only stare through the bars of his prison at the prince, those familiar eyes weary with defeat as he sat upon the cell's lone bench.

He couldn't quite find the words to chide him, "I could have helped you, brother. We could have been great fighters together with the Warriors Three, yet you became too greedy. Why do you take your hatred out on our people?"

"They're your people, Thor!" the prince's voice was strong despite his predicament, "They have never been and never will be my people! You may keep telling me that our parents accept me as their son but I know the truth! Be off with you; I'll have my day soon enough, whether I retrieve Peter or not. The boy shall find his destiny with me!"

But there was a glimmer of hurt in his eyes. That spark meant something to Thor – it was a signal that he actually cared about Peter yet, in the grand scheme of things, he wasn't about to let that weakness show. He wanted everyone to think he kept the child for use of his powers but, why would he have tried to ensure his comfort? Why would he have been so fretful and careful about gaining Peter's favour? He had stolen him after all, a deed that wasn't hard to undertake when they thought about the child's pacifism.

"Brother, the spaceman protected you after all you did to him," Thor's eyes were comforting, "I shall return to speak to you when we have ensured his comfort on Earth. Perhaps we could discuss things further."


	60. Earthly Affairs

The Avengers were back in the Tower not a week later, making the place ready for Peter's return. It had been a few days since they had touched down on Earth but Tony, ever the fretful father, had taken his son straight to the best hospital money could buy, intent that the child needed to be checked over before they even thought about bringing him home.

Three days had slipped past without the billionaire and his boy, so everyone was brimming with excitement as they prepared the Tower. Decorations were hung all over the foyer; banners that said, 'Welcome Home,' a buffet full of treats that Steve would have normally condemned, a huge amount of orange squash ready for pouring – it was all there, each and every last bit prepped for Peter's approval.

"Excited for it then?" Fury asked Steve whilst the leader hung up another banner, his face the picture of happiness as he fastened it to the crystal chandelier. He could only muster a nod in reply. "It's been a while since Pete was here last."

As they conversed quietly about the child, Bruce had been working up the courage to open his laptop again. It wasn't for the spam mail in his inbox that he worried, nor the angry messages from his fellow researchers about why he hadn't been commenting recently; it was because he didn't want to read the confused messages from Joanna that he kept the computer shut, tucked away in a nearby lap-safe until he found the strength to open it again.

His hands trembled over the sleek plastic frame, wondering whether or not he really needed a relationship outside of the Avengers. As the scientist began to pull the safety feature and finally allow the screen to prop open, he had all but convinced himself that she'd lost interest.

_Spam box – eight hundred and ninety two new messages. Drafts – four hundred messages. Deleted – six hundred and twenty messages. Inbox – eighty two new messages._

The very setup of his email made him quake in fear. With sweat breaking free on his forehead, Bruce willed himself to click on each new message and read several subject lines for the very first ones.

_Fan site messages are waiting for you!_

_JARVIS; Interview request for international news station. Details forwarded to all Avenger's members. _

_Joanna; Dinner next week?_

Had he read that right? The scientist stared dumbfounded at Joanna's message, his mind working on all the possible messages she could have written before he actually got round to clicking it. The dark purple background loaded for a split second before her profile picture came on screen, the content of her message laid in front of him like a scripture he'd been studying.

_Hey Bruce – it's been a while since we last spoke! Look, I don't know whether you still want to see each other after how Peter reacted, but I know that kids warm up to people after they've been around them a while. I'm not offended about it! And I've kept the secret close to me as well; no one will know about Peter's powers, I can assure you, even if we don't see each other again. It's not fair to put him in that position._

_Anyway, I was wondering whether you wanted to have dinner sometime soon? Next week is completely free for me but, depending on your schedule, I can move some things around. I'd like to make a go of this! Even if it means getting mixed up in lock-downs and terrorists screenings all the time, haha!_

In those two paragraphs, Bruce's world had fallen completely into place. Not only was Peter returned and the threat to his safety neutralised, it seemed that he'd not scared off the one girl who seemed perfect for him. With lightning quick speed he replied, an apology and then a list of all the days he could make dinner.

"He's home!" Natasha cried as she peaked out of the archway window, her scream echoing through the Tower's near-silent halls and alerting everyone in a twelve mile radius, "Peter's here!" a flurry of movement caused the team to rush to the foyer they had prepared, great beams on their faces whilst the door locks snapped open.

Tony carried Peter proudly on his arm when they stepped through the door and, with love glimmering in his eyes, announced to everyone standing, "The doctor said he's alright! No lasting damage or marks that'll leave scars – he's in perfect health, save a little hungry after that hospital food."

His announcement was met by joyful cheers and shouts, mostly from his boyfriend who had opted to prepare their home. It'd been a good three days since they last saw each other; love sparkled in their eyes when they met, intensified by they thought of their impassioned proposal not days before.

Steve's hand lay over the billionaire's shoulder as he pecked his child's forehead, "Hey little guy, how was the hospital?"

"Nee-dle. Bad. Daddy hold hand but feel it. Not hurt."

The leader could only smile at the juvenile account of a blood-test, although he gave Tony a sideways glance to say, 'Another one? Aren't you getting tired of injecting him?' the tycoon only shrugged in reply, handing the child to Clint so that they could go eat from the buffet. His eyes were suddenly serious when he turned to Steve.

"We've been invited to an interview on our international news station. I've got a feeling it's going to be about Pete, and how he suddenly disappeared out of the Tower," his voice was nearly trembled as he relayed the information to him, just like his hands were when JARVIS had told him about it. His car-ride back home wasn't the most enjoyable thing to go through.

"Why don't you just say no then?"

"Because they might twist that into meaning we don't care about Pete's safety. We're going to have to do the interview…_with _Peter."

Their eyes locked onto each other for a minute, a battle of their inner voices as they mulled over their options before finally, Steve sighed, "We don't have any other choice. Fine. You arrange everything and we'll give those vultures want they want. This better be worth it, Tony."


	61. Show Time

It was a busy day within the news station, made busier by the arrival of Anthony Stark and his strange little family. The Avengers had chosen to stay behind for the coming events – Fury wanted to see how Tony handled the situation on his own, and he was confident that he wouldn't disappoint when it was Peter on the line. He couldn't deny that Steve's presence made him feel slightly better on the subject but, for the sake of keeping his one good eye, he hadn't mentioned anything to the billionaire.

"Just stay with me and Captain Daddy when we're on the set," Tony soothed his tuxedo-donned little boy, patting his dark locks down in an attempt to tame them whilst Steve admired the crimson waiting room, "I don't want you running off and getting lost now, you understand?" Peter could only nod in reply as another comb was whipped out, its work intent on taming the hair that the tycoon loved.

Steve was still admiring an oddly proportioned vase when Tony finally turned to him, that smile on his face telling him all he needed to know, "Feeling confident?"

"People are going to know that we've got Pete back, for good; I'm as confident as I've ever been," replied the billionaire. He instantly clasped his hands around his boyfriend's head, pecking him softly on the nose before he glanced around the room they had been brushed into, like their punctual arrival hadn't been expected and the reporters hadn't prepared enough.

The place wasn't much to be admired – it had the usual crimson wallpaper and stylish black coffee table in the middle, a set completed by the leather black sofa and matching armchairs that surrounded it. A single water cooler sat in a neglected corner of the room, bubbling away as it awaited usage, whilst Peter had long since noticed a big plate of chocolate biscuits that had been placed in the middle of the table, as a sort of welcome gift from all the vultures at the news station. His young fingers twitched over one, his puppy-dog eyes directed at his fathers in a plea for permission.

"Go on then, but no more than three!" Steve smiled as his son took a big handful, "We don't want you spoiling lunch, do we?" his words fell on deaf ears since Peter had already started munching, with the usual worry from Tony that he was going to get chocolate on his suit.

_If you don't want him to ruin the designer suit, don't get him the designer suit!_ The leader thought humorously whilst Tony continued to fret, although he couldn't bear to bring up such a trivial argument. He would go about fatherhood in his own way; Steve just had to make sure that he didn't go overboard with things, and their balance remained ever precariously perfect.

Peter hardly noticed his parents when he ate – who would want to pay attention to something so boring when they had chocolate biscuits? The sweet tastes circled in his mouth as he glanced about the room, so similar to many of the hospital waiting rooms he had stayed in and, yet, without that same air of foreboding. There was still an air of it, of course, but it wasn't so noticeable amongst the clutter of designer lamps, their twisted forms like some sort of Van Gogh project and their light hardly fit for purpose.

Silence reigned for a moment before Tony spoke, his mind intent on making their family look perfect, "When we get on the set, I don't want us talking about Peter's rescue. I want to make it out like we never lost him – we don't want the government making a big song and dance about us being neglectful fathers. Who knows what they'd do if they could take little Pete?" he looked mournfully at his son as if it had already happened, though in reality he couldn't imagine the bureaucrats would do something so foolish.

They needed his support, after all.

"If you think that's best, we won't talk about it," Steve took the seat beside his son as he spoke, tickling his chin gently before he decided to wipe the running chocolate from it, "Besides, I'm sure people are going to be more concerned with this, don't you think?" he gestured to the brand new sparkling engagement ring on his finger, one that matched another that sat on Tony's hand.

It had been a quick search for what they deemed a suitable enough ring, especially after Tony had rapidly lost interest in the matching bands of gold and grey. Steve had chanced upon a website after he'd clicked a popup – a dangerous thing as his boyfriend so insisted – yet he had been in luck, since its merchandise seemed to be the exact thing they were looking for.

Now it sat on their fingers; two rings made of platinum, twining in a strange sort of braided knot at the top and only stopping when they reached a large diamond that sat in the middle, like a royal sitting upon their rightly ordained throne. It glimmered in the harsh light of the waiting room, a beacon of their love that Tony had instantly ordered, and something that Peter enjoyed looking at when his fathers were in the shower.

"Concerned?"

"You know what I mean. They're not going to care too much about what went on with Peter when they realise we're engaged, especially not the ones who don't agree we should be together."

"Who cares what they think?" the billionaire threw himself on the sofa, the opposite side of his precious little boy as he gazed at his fiancé, "It doesn't matter…their opinions don't matter when it comes to us."

"They're people, Tony; of course their opinions matter, but it doesn't mean that we have to change our lives by them. Just because they're offended doesn't mean they're right," the leader's hand clasped over Tony's and, with that same smile that the billionaire had fallen in love with, he gave their son a soft peck on the head.

"We're ready for you now – show starts in about ten minutes," a weedy boy had bounded into the room during their discussion, with a headset that seemed unnecessarily large atop his brown-crested head.

He didn't know what the situation was between the two heroes but ever since he had joined their Fansite, he'd been closely following the developments of the Avengers. It was hard for him to be in the same room without asking them questions, or even envying the small child that lived with them in the Tower.

"Let's go represent the Avengers," Tony sighed.


	62. Watching the Baby

A few days after the interview, which went off without a hitch and proved that the Avengers were back in the driver's seat, Tony had locked himself away in the lab again. No one really minded that he wasn't there during the daytime or that he wasn't around for their hilarious chats, but it became a problem for Peter as each mealtime was spent without him. The child missed his father.

Steve knew that his son was feeling slightly put out by Tony's odd behaviour, so much so that he'd actually gone to the billionaire to discuss it. When he had walked into that pristine the laboratory, his bulky frame like an intruder amongst the matinée of conical flasks and petri dishes, he had instantly clapped eyes on his boyfriend hard at work, a five o'clock shadow on his chin whilst he fretted over some sort of metal contraption.

"Yeah, that works," he muttered to himself, completely oblivious to the fact his fiancé was now there, "If I move that over here, it'll make it sleeker. That could help if…well, it just could help."

It was only when Steve's warm hand fell upon Tony's shoulders that he looked up, smiling that dazzling smile that the leader had fallen in love with, "You're here! Great timing – I wanted to show you something!" without so much as a warning the tycoon tugged at a beige covering in front of him, one that hid something large and cold underneath it.

"What the-" silence fell when it was revealed; some huge mechanical robot that Steve hadn't seen before, although he couldn't have denied that it seemed to be something straight from the films. With bolts still loose and a few fittings that still needed to be tightened, it wasn't the world's most glorious example of a modern-day servant, yet it was more than most people had built in all their engineering careers.

"Good, isn't it?" Tony's beam was even more powerful than the fluorescent lighting around them, as strong as the sun's rays on a particularly hot summer's day, "It was a little pet-project I had going on, y'know – a while before we got Pete, obviously. I originally made it to be a remote-controlled drone of Ironman so that, when I'm out of fighting, it can be used instead of my suit. Can't trust you lot to handle that!"

"Then why are you still working on it?!" Steve was confused, and rightly so. By the way Tony was speaking he had abandoned the drone many months ago, instead favouring to devote his time to their child and better himself as a father. Why had he suddenly taken an interest in his old pastime?

The billionaire's face didn't skip a beat as he bounded over to a large blueprint, one that sat on the adjacent desk and had several coffee-stains ringed on it, blotting out some of the crucial details that Steve thought littered the page. He wasn't too skilled in the art of engineering, but he wasn't so stupid that he thought not everything was important.

Especially when it came to the man he loved.

"Because, my dear," the billionaire's voice became overtly theatrical as he spoke, "I'm modifying it to be a sort of stand-in when we're not here!"

"A stand-in? What sort of stand-in?"

"Well, a stand-in for when we can't make the next mission and the world is in danger," his grin suddenly extended to reach both of his ears, a terrifying display of raw giddiness when he finally blurted out, "And a babysitter stand-in, for when Pete needs looking after and we don't have anyone to do it!"

Steve's mouth fell open. He looked at Tony for what seemed like an eternity, then down at the heap of nuts and bolts on the counter. Parts of it hung off to reveal the bare circuitry, odd wires that the leader could never hope to understand, whilst its frame was barely held together by loose strands of string. He could imagine that his billionaire boyfriend would spare no expense in fixing it up and, if need be, Steve would have supported his long hours in the laboratory just to bring it up to code, but he couldn't imagine leaving his young son with something made of metal.

"Tony…you can't be serious!"

"It'll be a hundred percent safe; safer than the babysitters we hired last time, at the very least," the tycoon turned back to his mechanical masterpiece, fiddling aimlessly with one of the red spirals whilst his mind worked nonstop, "I'm just sorting it out now. I thought we'd give it to him as a birthday present, since it seems that Loki thoroughly destroyed our last one."

A visible shudder went up the billionaire's spine and seemed to pool in the room as atmosphere, making what had been an air of shock turn into an air of complete horror. He still remembered the trembling fear that he'd felt when he'd held Peter, the child's breath hitching against his chest as he glared down at his kidnapper…and realised that Loki's plan had actually made sense.

"A birthday present? We're giving Pete a babysitter as a birthday present?" again Steve was sceptical, although he didn't want to upset Tony by outright refusing such a gesture. Their son was more precious to him than his title, more precious to him than the entire world combined and when he thought about it, he couldn't imagine leaving him in the hands of something without emotion. How could a robot babysit a child? It couldn't connect with him on an emotional level, never hoping to understand the boy when he was in a tough situation, battling with his mind and heart as he attempted to make the right decision…

Tony turned with another smile on his face, albeit his unkempt goatee hid the toothy grin somewhat and turned him into the picture of a madman, "It's interchangeable – a babysitter, a toy, something he can work on when he gets a bit older. The possibilities are endless really, but I just think it's a good idea. You're not…you're alright with it, aren't you?"

Steve looked into those hopeful eyes shimmering at him, the chocolate depths that he had been blessed to peer at on many occasions…and felt something. He didn't care that the machine would be looking after their son, even knew that it would do a good job; Tony was building it, and that meant it was the single safest thing for their boy to have.

"I'm fine with it," he said with sincerity, "I'm happy that you're building it, actually. It's about time we had a decent babysitter."

Elsewhere in the Tower, Fury was busy preparing for his punishment. He knew that his superiors would be furious at his disobedience, perhaps even to the point where they would dismiss him as SHIELD director and opt for a younger puppet, but he couldn't run from his fate. It was for a good cause that he'd denied them what they wanted. If he had listened, their precious Peter would still be under Loki's control, his twisted wants moulded to use the child's power as his own as he flattened his homeland.

But what he didn't bargain for was the boy's curious touch. As the director began to make the final preparations to what he believed would be his last order, Peter had gone in search of Tony. With tiny strides he'd completely missed his laboratory, gone up the stairs and was wandering dangerously close to the 'Dark Room,' where Fury religiously spoke to his superiors, whether he wanted to or not.

Like a kitten he timidly patted into the area, noticing immediately that the floor changed from carpet to hard metal. The atmosphere was choking whilst he slowly made his way to the centre of the room – the child could tell that, sometime in the past and certainly in the future, this place would shape the world.

"Fury, are you-" Peter squealed when a balding man began to talk on one of the high screens, his face like a looming moon as he peered down at the child, "You're not Fury. Where is he?"

"I Peter! I Peter!" he screamed before his eyes went that familiar blood-red, more out of surprise than actually considering an attack. In the split second they had arrived they were gone again, as if he'd never really used them and the tiny shards of metal hadn't begun their telekinetic dance.

"Peter?" the eyes of the balding man seemed to come alive for a moment, smouldering with a fire that the child had only seen in his fathers, "Good! We need to speak to you, little one."


	63. Fully Indoctrinated

By the time Fury came into the room, it was too late for Peter. The child had been well and truly tricked by the balding men, their faces a mantra of glee as they began ticking off notes on their clipboards, as if their days had been spent scheming on how they would get him to open up about his powers.

"NO!" the director screamed whilst he pelted forward like a bullet, snatching him up from the icy metal floor as if he were going to die if he stayed sat on it, "What have you done?!" his anger wasn't directed at the boy but rather his superiors, who continued to loom over the monitors like some sort of demonic jury come together. Their smiles were something that children feared and mothers told horror stories about, with fathers known to check under the beds of their weeping children to make the room secure again.

Peter trembled nervously against his uncle's chest whilst the grins continued to beam, granted he was more fearful of Nick's anger than he was the imaginary effects of their smiles. The darkness threatened to swallow them although they kept their distance, intent on letting the nightmarish scene go unaided.

"Ah! Nicholas," the man on the left hand screen said, the only one with a sprig of growth on his shining crest, "We were just chatting to young Peter about his recent escapade – something about Loki, was it?"

Fury's cheeks became hot with rage, "You know exactly what was going on!"

"We did indeed, but it's nice to hear it from such a…fresh young perspective, isn't it?" he sat back in what looked like a leather chair, one that had been specially made to fit his quickly expanding backside and accommodate for his rather luxurious lifestyle, "You've got a very remarkable young boy there. Almost, too remarkable?"

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I wouldn't want anyone else knowing that Peter's got these lovely powers! Not if he were my child," the man swung with that maniacal grin on his face, laughing half-heartedly to himself as he gazed at the monitors of his peers, "Would you?"

He was replied by a rally of no's and a few more chuckles, as if there were some joke going on that Fury didn't know about. Again Peter trembled against his chest which caused him to bring a hand to his head, his fingers laced around the wild locks that Tony had yet to cut.

"He's a little different…that doesn't mean anything."

"A little different? Tell me how moving things by just thinking about it is a little different, Fury."

"You can't seriously be trying to tell me you want him as an Avenger. Look at him!" to demonstrate, Fury pulled the little boy's head just far enough to show his glistening eyes, the build-up of tears and his seemingly weak nature, how easily he broke in the face of pressure. How could they believe that that innocent, sweet child was anything more than that, and hope that he'd be able to protect an entire globe from the forces of evil?

The balding men's faces fell. Like they were in a play they sat forward simultaneously, their faces the picture of seriousness as they glared down at the director, "We're extremely concerned about where your loyalties lay, Fury. It's been a while since you told us anything about the team and then, all of a sudden, we find out through the news that Captain America and Ironman are getting married? That their son had been rescued without so much as a scratch? We demand the full report of that mission!"

Peter squirmed under their watchful gazes, crying out for his father in a voice choked by tears. He didn't want to be there anymore. He wanted to be back downstairs with the men he loved, the ones who had always wanted to protect him and kept him safe from the eyes of the 'superiors.'

"We'll give you the damn report, but not Peter!"

"It's too late for that now. We want the boy in the team – after hearing so much about his apparent abilities, we're concerned that he's not being used to the fullest."

"His fullest?! He's a little boy!"

"A little alien, to be precise!" the man smiled once more, that time with a different sort of intent, "Not the next generation, and certainly an expendable asset if we're not using his powers in some way. Would a shame if his citizenship was…revoked…"

"You're a monster!"

"We expect his full indoctrination by next week. Goodbye, Fury."


	64. Intiation

Steve and Tony didn't take the news well, and neither did the rest of the team when they finally heard about it. It wasn't that Peter would be taking on harsh terrains or the fact he'd be faced with countless villains – it was the complete audacity the superiors had to decide on their child's future, how he should have been involved with the Avengers just because he was remarkable.

But they couldn't argue with them. After hours of ranting and raving from the billionaire coupled with a tirade of abuse from their usually calm leader, Fury had to push the child through their brutal rounds of initiation, which consisted of a dozen trials and a great magnitude of mind-crippling games.

By the time it was over, Peter didn't know which end was up. He hobbled out of the laboratory after what seemed like several ages, his legs shaking underneath him like a Chihuahua in cold weather. All the colour had drained from his face to make him resemble a ghost, one that had been frightened by the prospect of mortality, whilst the rest of him was physically drained from the exhausting course of obstacles.

"Not one of my SHIELD agents have made it through that," Fury mentioned quietly as he led the child through the halls, "Not for the past couple of years, at the very least. He's right for this team." Steve shook his head before he gazed at his child, completely ignoring the fact that his finesse and aptitude for battle made him the perfect Avenger's candidate.

"Just get him up to bed, and quick. Tony's going to knock us flying if he sees Pete in this state," it was hard for the leader not to attack his friend right then, since it seemed as though Fury had upheld such a ferocious take on what was expected of the boy. Every time Peter fell, Fury had barked. Every time he gasped, Fury had screamed. Every time he wept for the stinging pain in his little limbs, Fury had insisted he get up and battle on.

But Steve had been so proud of his son; each time Peter made a mistake he corrected it, and when he had felt as though the world was caving in he hadn't backed down. He just faced up to it with the same calmness that the leader possessed, his face set in a determined frown as he clenched his jaw.

Fury was quick putting the child to bed, just as he had been ordered. It wasn't a time for him to go against Steve's wishes, especially since it seemed that the leader was prepared to knock seven shades of shit out of him at any second. He didn't want to risk his blond companion's anger.

Tony sat in the coolness of his master bedroom, waiting for the results of Peter's brutal initiation. Twiddling his thumbs quietly, he looked at the stylish black designs around him, felt the comfortable memory foam mattress mould around his bulk as he sat backwards and tried to forget his child's predicament, rubbed his temples in an effort to calm himself.

"How is he?" the billionaire leapt to his feet as soon as Steve entered the room, as if he'd been lying in wait for his boyfriend's arrival – which, admittedly, wasn't that far from the truth, "Is he okay? Why isn't he with you?! What's happened to my boy?!"

"Okay, breathe."

Tony huffed out a breath he didn't know he was holding, making sure that his extended chest fell to a normal level so that his reactor would stop whirring. The disrupted air around him took the moment of calm to settle, although soon enough the billionaire's voice boomed through its attempt, "What's happened to Peter?"

"He's fine! He's just in his room having a rest," the leader's hands caught Tony's in an attempt to calm him, yet he knew that nothing would do that except the sight of their precious jewel, "The test's done. He won't ever have to go through that again."

"How'd he do?"

"Near perfect. A ninety eight percent on the physical examinations, a hundred percent on the mental examination," Steve's milky complexion stretched into a grin, the contours of his face expanding to accommodate the sudden change in mood as he remembered his son's work, "He's definitely ready for the Avengers…at least, by the state's standards."

Once again they were reminded how little the state cared about their boy, how little they thought about his age and how the battles would alter his innocent mind. Tony's eyes glimmered with that fatherly hurt when he imagined the struggles they would face – perhaps they would be together through it all, but that didn't change the fact that he was too young to go through it all.

The stressed-ruffled black hair was ruffled again, but that time by Steve's caring hands. He smiled sweetly at his boyfriend, that familiar, calming smile that had always made him melt inside, before he suddenly turned and made a swift movement for the door.

"What are you doing?"

"You'll see."

Downstairs, Peter snored in his room with sweet oblivion to what was going on around him. Fury sat at the end of his bed in a sort of silent vigil, his leather gloved hands on the red and black checked duvet as he silently watched the sleeping child, wondering whether or not he would come out smiling from his slumber.

As he watched that adorably soft face, he found himself speaking, "You're going to be a great Avenger, kid. You're going to set an example we're not gonna reach, aren't you?"

More snores replied.

"You're going to be the face of our little team; Peter Stark-Rogers, the kid with the superpowers, the kid with the brightest future!" Fury smiled to himself as if he'd just touched upon a fond memory, but quickly his face fell back into place, "We're going to have to come up with something to call you. Can't go around with your name on show."

Heavy snoring.

"You're…hmmm…you're going to have to have a good name…how about…" the director was suddenly hit with an idea, a memory about the child's glowing red eyes when he used his powers and manipulated the objects around him. That was the perfect name.

So Fury carefully put his hand atop Peter's and whispered, "Welcome to the team, Crimson Shades."


	65. He'll Love It

Weeks flooded by without so much as a hint of trouble. Tony managed to finish his little experiment in record time, clocking only two hundred straight hours of work when he'd finally welded the last steel plate down. He smiled at the gleaming hunk of metal mastery; the fruits of his labour stood as a chrome man of over a thousand commands, each one locked away within a sizable database and possessing the closest thing a robot could have to memory.

The glowing yellow eyes would have to be tweaked until Tony thought they wouldn't frighten his little alien – the idea of scaring him was far from his mind – yet, when he finally stood back to admire it properly, he felt that familiar self-satisfied grin stretching on his face. The goatee he hadn't trimmed in weeks scratched against his chin, his hands still slick with grease after such hard work.

"Are you coming to breakfast today? Everyone's missing you," Steve waltzed in just in time to see his boyfriend clearing up, putting his tools in their respective places with a giant beam on his features, "What's got you in such a good…wow!"

When the leader's eyes clapped onto the thing, he could scarcely believe it at first. He knew what Tony was capable of and yet, every time he managed to craft something so perfect and so beautiful, it came as a huge shock to his '40's appropriated brain.

"Like it?" the billionaire asked as he tidied his workspace, which had been in a state of disarray for a long time, "I thought it'd be good to do a few touch-ups to it, y'know; just a couple of safety modules, maybe a couple of fire drill procedures for when we're not here. What do you think?"

Steve was about to reply in kind, but he suddenly felt clarity strike him. The way Tony spoke, the way he seemed so careful about how he presented things – it all came down to that bickering they had all those months ago, back before Peter had been stolen from them and they'd been forced to go through that horrifying rescue. He wanted Steve to remember he was a good father. He wanted his boyfriend to see that, no matter how caught up he got in modern distractions, Peter would always be his number one priority.

"I don't think that's necessary," the leader eventually choked out whilst he stared into his partner's eyes, those deep blue sapphires sparkling in the otherwise murky laboratory, "You're going to have put in enough effort, especially since it's our little guy's present. When are you giving it to him?" he wanted to know because he wanted the moment to be special, an event that Peter would remember for the rest of his life and keep close to his heart long after childhood had passed him.

Tony mustered a smile before he replied, "Tomorrow. We just need to grab some cameras and get the special birthday cake I ordered, and we should be all set to go. You're alright to get that, aren't you?" it was such a casual exchange of questions that Steve likened it to the morning shopping, when one of them would argue over whose turn it was to go out and get the milk. It definitely wasn't how he'd pictured planning his first son's birthday party.

"I thought you wanted all lights and frocks for Pete's party?"

"Nah – thought about it a bit last night. It doesn't matter if Pete's wearing the best clothes or gets the best toys…it just matters that we're with him for his birthday, and that he's celebrating his one-year anniversary on Earth with us. We're his family. That's what matters."

Tears threatened the hero's eyes. He turned away from his dark-crested fiancé for a moment, wiping away the insufferable droplets before they could be seen, yet he couldn't deny that he didn't felt those familiar twinges at his heart. In that grease slicked laboratory, clustered amongst the dirty conical flasks and the unwashed spanners that Tony had been using, the billionaire had just let one more of his childhood inhibitions go; the idea that money could solve anything, that family wasn't as important as image.

"Are you okay?" Tony closed the distance between them nervously, wondering whether he'd done something wrong.

But he relaxed when Steve gave him that dazzling smile, "I'm brilliant, Tony. Okay – you get the cameras and I'll pick up the cake, then we'll meet back here before noon tomorrow to set everything up. I'm guessing this will be the centrepiece to it all?" he pointed towards the metal man that stood so sturdily in the corner, his eyes as unmoving and lifeless as the cold exterior of his suit.

Tony gave a nod to reply, "Yep, should be. Natasha was making him something for his birthday too, wasn't she? Better tell her she's got a day to finish it; wouldn't want to just jump out and surprise her like this."

"Clint was getting him his starting pack for archery, so it's probably best that we tell him as well."

"Fury's getting him an eye-patch, right?"

"Don't ask me – I'm still confused whether Bruce's going to give him a chemistry set or his own DNA stuff."

"What's Thor getting him again? Jesus, he told me and I forgot it…" the billionaire clicked his fingers as if they were a remainder, his head bent down next to the bunched up fist whilst his mind worked over their conversations.

"A little hammer!" they said in unison, grinning like wild men when they remembered how fondly Thor had spoken about the present. He wanted Peter to be well-equipped for future life, and believed that the addition of a great weapon would make him that little bit safer.

Steve kissed his boyfriend lightly on his oil-painted forehead, that smile on his face all that Tony needed to see.

"It's going to be a great day Tony."

"I hope so."

"It will be – we're all going to be there, there'll be cake, and Pete's going to get presents. He's going to love it. Almost as much as I love you."


	66. The Crimson Shades

Tony clasped Steve's hand tightly as he watched their son tear into his presents, a crazed look in his eye like a wild thing rather than a boy. It had been a roaring success – Peter's day was met by cheers of celebration, armfuls of gifts that the billionaire had designated safe and the super soldier didn't think pushed the boundaries, plus those specially crafted cupcakes that Natasha had picked up.

Peter didn't like food unless it was covered in chocolate.

"What's that then, Uncle Bruce?" the tycoon cooed at his son, although in reality he was speaking to a rival intelligence, "Is it Peter's own DNA splicing tech? Is he going to make some new bacterium?" the child smiled widely before he threw his arms around Bruce, who had tried to supress chuckles at the mere thought of Stark's fatherly tones. It was a moment until he felt confident enough to return the hug.

"I thought it was about time that he got a little interested in biology," he explained more so to Tony, his voice identical to the coo he'd just heard, "We can't just make him learn physics now, can we?"

Streamers lay strewn around the living room which, up until about five hours before, had been a flurry of movement as they tried to prepare the place. Steve was designated with the job of keeping Peter occupied; the leader had taken him to get haircuts and ice cream in an attempt to keep the child's mind from home, yet it was difficult to keep anything from his son. It was only halfway into their frozen treat that he'd asked why they weren't on their way home, why his father kept looking at his watch as if they needed to be somewhere.

But there were no hats, not after Tony's insistence that they were an accident waiting to happen. Some people may have believed it was an overprotective measure – Steve understood that he was calculating Peter's powers and how easily the child could have hurt himself on them, even though most children only found themselves with a stinging eye.

He seemed happy enough with the chocolate and presents. Peter hardly noticed the television whirring quietly in the corner of the room, its HD screen portraying some news reporter and the speakers set down to the lowest volume.

"It's a brilliant present," the child looked up to Joanna, who had taken her place beside Bruce before any of the presents had been issued to him. With a smile he nodded to her, accepting the fact that she was part of Bruce's life and may have had a future in the Avenger's setup, although he wasn't ready to accept gifts from her.

A kid's got to have limits, surely?

As the scientist entwined his fingers with his new found lady friend's, Peter turned to squeeze his fathers into a hug. The smile on his face was all Tony needed to see, all he needed to catch a glimpse of before he felt insufferable tears building in his eyes, the joy of knowing his son had completed a milestone enough to make him sob. How perfect could his life have become?

Fury was the one to break the silence, holding the eye-patch he had bought Peter with great care, "You're going to be a heart breaker when you put this on, Pete. You will not believe how many women go for a guy with an eye-patch." Steve's smile was flustered as he imagined his son swarmed by the hordes, granted they would have been more interested in his fathers until he had grown up a bit.

"Women?" the child pulled his head back from Tony's shoulder to look at his uncle, smiling sweetly as he often did.

"You'll understand when you're older, kid," Clint chimed in before Fury could get into the ins and outs of it, his brain directed on the education of Peter rather than the appropriateness of his age, "For now, you better keep your head set on practicing your archery. Wouldn't want you to get rusty before you've even had a chance."

A heavy hand fell upon the boy's freshly cut locks, perhaps a little shorter than Tony would have liked them to be. His hair comfortably brushed against his ears and there were still a few wild sprigs that the hairdresser had left in place, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that Steve had gotten him something close to a military cut.

Old habits.

"Wait guys, be quiet," Fury's eye had caught something on the screen, something that he'd hoped wouldn't have turned up for a while. With a gesture towards the remote he snatched it from the sofa, cranking up the volume until the women's voice rang around the living room.

Her voice was eerily calm as she spoke, hands clasped on a small clipboard that blocked out her station logo, "Breaking news; several suspicious packages have been found in key areas of the city. Officials are saying that each case is being handled with extreme caution, but there's been no confirmation whether or not they're perceived as a terrorist threat. Reports are sketchy about the size of these packages – it's believed that they're…"

The Avengers glanced at each other in exasperation. Of all the days for something to happen, it had to be the day they were celebrating their son's birthday. They struggled to their feet with great sighs erupting from their lips, wondering if they should go down there without confirmation or if they should have waited for the phone call.

"Wait…" Clint looked down from the news report, his eyes locked on to the child who was inspecting his new toys, "We're going to have to take Pete. He's part of the team now; we won't be able to get away with leaving him behind anymore."

"What?!" Tony's outburst was quickly cut off by Steve who, sort of selfishly, had hoped that the subject of Peter's membership wouldn't be raised.

"We haven't determined the threat level yet. If its' something we need the whole team for, then we can-"

"Steve…Clint's right. We'll have to bring him along."

"But there's no point-"

"He's an Avenger! There's always a point for the team to be together, especially in the face of a possible terrorist attack!" Fury stood to face the super soldier, no quivers shuddering up his spine as he stared into those fiery blue eyes. He daren't look at Tony's rage-contorted features.

But Peter had been listening closely to their conversation, and had decided it was time for him to take charge, "Daddy, get car. Captain Daddy, get shield. Every-one in car in two. No late." He stood from the childish things he had been fiddling with, the floppy eared dog that Natasha crafted falling to the floor with a non-existent 'thud.'

Tony looked down at his son. Those dark green eyes sparkled up at him expectantly, glistening with something that the billionaire knew all too well…determination.

Determination to protect his homeland, his people and his family. Determination to face something out to the very end, no matter how terrifying it seemed. Determination to fight for what seemed right. It was the same determination that Tony had seen reflected in Steve's eyes, and the very same that he expected from an Avenger's teammate. For the first time since he'd imagined his son in such danger, the billionaire relaxed.

Peter was determined. He'd make it through the things they'd have to face.

"Okay little guy," he whispered quietly, the world around him fading so only he and his son existed, "Avengers Assemble."


End file.
